


Fortune's Fools

by Verbana



Series: Tempting Fate [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Antagonism, Bitterness, Druids, Fate, Fate & Destiny, M/M, Power Dynamics, Secrets, Sex Magic, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbana/pseuds/Verbana
Summary: “Here,” the man said. “You’ll be alright. You don’t really want to die, do you?”At a time when Camelot is besieged with troubles, a powerful sorcerer from Arthur's past appears. Thrown together again, a king and a mage struggle to overcome the bitter truths that kept them apart, while striving to prevent a civil war.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Tempting Fate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685635
Comments: 18
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It only took me five months to pull this sequel out. It did not come easily, but I was determined to give these two a happy ending...eventually.

_Rain, rain, and sun! a rainbow on the lea!_

_And truth is this to me, and that to thee;_

_And truth or clothed or naked let it be._

_Rain, sun, and rain! and the free blossom blows:_

_Sun, rain, and sun! and where is he who knows?_

_From the great deep to the great deep he goes._

“The Idylls of the King,” Lord Alfred Tennyson

King Arthur was dying. The dark canopy of his bed stretched above him, woven with gold and silver stars and the crimson head of a dragon. Gold tassels tied back the drape of the curtain, allowing him a view of the door and his attendant seated near it, a middle-aged man with a face steeped in doom. Henrik had been his father’s attendant, just as this bed and this room had been his father’s. So had this kingdom.

In a way, Arthur envied his father’s death. Uther had never watched his strength and vigor drain away with each day. Uther had never even seen his death coming when the magicked blade was at his neck. He’d died believing that his reign would go on for another twenty years.

But Arthur faded away, stewing in uncertainty.

The night before, his uncle Agravaine had visited with the chief counselors and they had asked him to name a successor and appoint a regent until the princesses came of age. Agravaine had a tender concern in his dark features, as though he expected Arthur might expire as they were speaking. Arthur had told them he’d consider it and have an answer for them the following day. He did not have an answer.

The light from the far window barely illuminated the room. The sickly-sweet candles low in their silver pans gave off a weak glow and a stronger scent. The scent of death, Arthur thought. He was too weak to sit up now and the simple act of turning his head sent tremors of dizziness through him. The pain had lessened at least—the fiery blaze in all his muscles now a dull, smoldering ache sunk deep in his bones.

Before the ninth bell, Mithian entered with the two girls. Her yellow hair looked dull and brittle, but her face had the same calm determination as always. She wore a sapphire-blue gown with gold trim and a gold circlet around her head draped a single diamond on her brow. The girls wore red with the dragon emblem stitched in gold thread. They look frightened and unsure, seeing him lying there, but their mother made them approach and give the customary greetings and well-wishes.

“The duke tells me that you haven’t signed the degree,” Mithian said, betraying no emotion. “Are you much recovered, my lord? Perhaps you do not need to name an heir.”

Arthur drew a long, painful breath. “I told him I needed time to think,” he said hoarsely. “You will all be provided for. Don’t fret over that. I simply don’t know who is best suited to lead Camelot yet.”

“Then you must determine it soon.” Her voice was clipped and her lips thin, but he knew she wasn’t angry. She was afraid. They all were. The wheat crop had failed last season and flooding had destroyed roads and villages along the river. Bandits were attacking border towns and outbreaks of illness had taken hundreds in the southern part of the city. And the king was dying, leaving two young daughters and a power-hungry uncle. What would become of Camelot?

“I’ll give you my answer tonight,” he said wearily, vision already beginning to blur with exhaustion.

He could see in her eyes that she wondered if he would even last the day, but she bowed her obeisance and signaled her daughters to do the same. As they left the chamber, Arthur wished with a deep longing that he had spent more time with them. He’d never had women in his life growing up, apart from his nurse. No sisters or girls to play with. He’d been taught by other men and boys that some women were whores and others were ladies and you should use one and treat the other with chivalric grace. To Mithian he had given all respect and deference as a princess and a valuable tool for alliance. They had gotten along well enough in the early days, hunting hinds in the forest and riding across the moors. She had a vivacity that impressed and pleased him. It was good to have a wife with spirit and pride.

Yet they did not spend much time together after the wedding. There was simply too much to do. He saw her gradually drawing away, creating her own cluster of amusing young people, and generally enjoying palace life without him. When she became pregnant the first time, something changed in her, although he could not name it. She was no longer the dazzling, laughing young queen. Confined to her chambers for months, she grew bitter and spat cutting remarks each time he visited, so he came less and less. The arrival of a daughter confounded him even more. How did one raise a girl? He supposed the gentle ladies of the court could manage that well enough without him.

And now he was dying without ever truly knowing his wife or the two princesses. He’d thought somehow that the more time and energy he poured into running and improving Camelot, the better the kingdom would flourish. But now at the end of his short life, his land was faltering, his people suffering, and he was leaving them all behind.

The smoke and scent of the candles choked him and he began coughing again, harsh wracking pain jolting from his lungs to his throat. Henrik hurried to his side and tried to pour some honeyed wine down his throat, but Arthur choked on that as well. “Open the window,” he croaked when he could breathe again.

The attendant mopped up the mess of spilled wine and scurried to the narrow pane. It was fasted on oiled iron hinges but still squeaked with effort as the attendant pried it open. Gradually, a cool breeze filled the room, lessening the reek of the candles.

“Shall I call Gaius, sir?” Henrik asked meekly.

“No.” Arthur closed his eyes. He could smell the smoke from the fires of the braziers, the honeysuckle flowers growing in the gardens below, and his own stale sweat. Not much longer now. He tried to think of the best way to divide the power of ruling Camelot so that all would be protected and balance could be preserved without infighting and conflicts. It could not be done.

 _I’m sorry, father_ , he thought, _I have failed you and your kingdom. I tried to do what was best, but I don’t have your will._ How strange that he had despised his father sometimes, imagined how he’d do things better, before he’d been thrust into this position.

From far away, he heard a screech—most likely a rusty wheel. But it made him think of seabirds drifting in gray and white flocks over stormy waves. It brought back a different time—the first moments he felt truly free and actually dreamed of leaving it all behind. The throne of Camelot seemed a small thing in comparison to the joy of being with a beloved. But that had all disappeared into the moonlit waves.

The honeyed wine soured in his mouth. A chill went through his body, shaking his muscles and prickling his skin. Afterward, he felt heavy as an anvil, limbs flooded with cold weight _. I’ll call for the counselors, he thought. We’ll find a way._ But blackness was already closing over him.

Hours or years later, a hand shook him to consciousness again. Night had descended and the candles were pale halos of light. A familiar, worn face looked down at him. Gaius, his mind said. His features were blurred as though he were deep beneath the water.

“Sire,” Gaius said, muffled in Arthur’s ears. “Please rouse yourself. I’ve brought a wise man to help you.”

Somewhere in the room, someone was weeping. The attendant? The half-stifled sobs dragged Arthur down to the realization of his fate. No one can help me, he wanted to tell Gaius, but only a weak moan emerged from his throat.

Another figure came into view, a person dressed in loose, flowing robes, with cloth wrapped over their head. A Bedouin, perhaps. Through his failing eyes, Arthur could barely make out the bridge of a nose and two remarkably bright blue eyes, strange in a face with such brown skin.

“Can you do anything?” Gaius said, and Arthur could hear the raw panic in his voice. “He’s been fading for weeks. I can’t account for it.”

The other person reached out and touched fingers to Arthur’s damp forehead. The touch sent a strange hot-cold spark of sensation through Arthur’s head. But it wasn’t so strange at all. He’d felt this before. _Druid_.

“Here,” the man said, for it was clearly a man. “You’ll be all right. You don’t really want to die, do you?”

Arthur tried to say something but once again, it was nothing more than a garbled groan. The voice pulled at a memory deep inside him, but it was impossible.

“Prepare a bath,” the man ordered. “And bring me fresh rowan, red thistle, and elderberries.”

While the servants were filling the tub with water, the wise man prepared the plants and berries, stripping the rowan boughs and crushing the thistles and elderberries. He also took vials of colorful powders out of his bag and mixed them in a wooden bowel.

“Forgive me, your majesty,” Gaius said to Arthur who was still lying on the bed, head turned with great effort to watch. “He came to me with such certainty and he seems to have much knowledge of the healing arts. He demanded to be brought to you. I don’t know much about him, but he calls himself Merlin and claims to have studied medicine and herbology all over the world. Perhaps I was too hasty, but I feared we were running out of time.”

Arthur tried to nod or make some reply, but it took all of his energy just to keep his eyes open and his heart beating. When the bath was prepared, Gaius and the man called Merlin worked together to undress Arthur and carry him to the tub. He was faintly alarmed at how gray his skin was, but the comfort of sinking into the hot water soothed him.

Gaius held Arthur’s head above water while Merlin sprinkled the bowl of crimson-colored powder into the water. Then Merlin closed his eyes and the water began to bubble softly. A faint silver haze rose off it. The leaves and twigs floating in the water began to shrivel and blacken. Arthur’s head throbbed then slowly cleared, as though a cold mountain breeze was sweeping all of the fog out of it. He could see clearly now all the details of the room—the copper shimmer of the edge of the tub, the swirling greenish-brown water, the weavings on the wall depicting the towers of Camelot, and mysterious Merlin crouched in the shadows, eyes hooded. His robes were brown and plain with only a cord to hold the cloth tight around his head. His mouth was also covered by the hood of cloth so that only a spare rectangle of his upper face was revealed. But as soon as he opened his eyes and looked into Arthur’s, Arthur knew.

Strength slowly seeped into his limbs and he could raise his head out of Gaius’s hold. Gaius gasped and whispered a prayer of thanks. But Arthur could only stare at the man across the room from him. The gold was fading from his irises already, leaving that ethereal blue once again. He stood slowly and studied Arthur silently, scanning down his body like a hunter measuring a threat.

“Master Merlin, you have saved us all!” Gaius cried. “Was it a magical poison, then?”

“Yes,” Merlin replied. “But the intention was to weaken the king, not kill him.”

Gaius sputtered. “You saw how near death he was!”

“Indeed,” Merlin said. “It was my fault for not arriving sooner. I hesitated, almost too long.”

Arthur could not think of what to say to him. It all piled and boiled up inside him. That voice, those eyes. If Emrys had thought to hide his identity, he had underestimated how little twelve years could fade Arthur’s memory. “You waited a very long time,” he said at last, voice as raspy as a file on wood.

Emrys said nothing for a moment. Then, “I didn’t want to come at all. But you drew me, didn’t you? Every way you could.”

Arthur stilled, paralyzed with shocked fury. Emrys thought that Arthur had poisoned himself to lure him back?

“His majesty summoned you?” Gaius said, clearly confused.

“Yes,” Arthur said shortly. “Gaius, you may leave us now. Thank you for your assistance. I owe you my life.”

“Not at all,” Gaius said, still looking wary. “Can I help you out of the bath first?”

Arthur set his feet under him and pushed up. He still felt the weakness clinging to his sinews, but he could rise to his feet for the first time in a week. Brownish water ran off his body in thick rivulets.

“Please ask the chamberlain to bring more water for rinsing,” Emrys said smoothly. “His majesty is hale and hearty again. In a day or two he will reach his full health once more.”

Gaius beamed and went to the door.

Emrys gave Arthur a short bow. “I too will take my leave. I have served my purpose. You will live.”

“Why?” Arthur demanded, standing there in the water, naked, vulnerable and boiling with anger. “Why come at all? Your life would be much easier if you’d let me die.”

Emrys’ eyes were unreadable on him but his voice was strained. “Indeed, it would be. I wonder why I can’t let that happen. Even here after all these years, you still have the power to tear me apart.”

“What are you saying?” Arthur demanded. “You are nothing but power, are you not? You grew your own tongue back. You crossed an ocean. You beheaded a king. Do as you want.”

“I wanted you gone,” Emrys spat. “I wanted to end this torment. But your death would be worse. I cannot bear either, so I am trapped in between.”

Heat gathered behind Arthur’s eyes and he feared for a moment he might weep. “You selfish bastard. You’re the one that trapped me. And then you left.”

“Oh yes, here you are trapped inside your beautiful castle with your beautiful family and control of the entire kingdom.” Emrys’ eyes flashed at him “It must be very difficult for you.”

“You don’t know anything about the troubles I face right now,” Arthur growled. “Everything is on the brink of collapse and I was on my deathbed. So, don’t flash in here, brew a bath, and decide that everything is fixed.” He stared into the hooded face, hands clenched. “I’m grateful for your help, as much as I’m sure you regret it. But don’t assume that my life is perfect again, Emrys. You know I’m suffering.”

“Merlin. It’s Merlin. Emrys is a druid name.”

Arthur glared. “ _Merlin_. Please fly away to wherever you came from, Merlin. I’m sure you have no desire to hunt for me, and I have enough trained birds to suit my needs.”

“Do you?” There was a sharp note of amusement in his voice that left Arthur on edge.

A knock on the door and the chamberlain entered with servants carrying buckets. They looked between Arthur and the strange man in the room, but they were well trained and moved to pour the water over Arthur’s back and shoulders. It washed his skin clean. As he tried to calm the storm raging through him, his eyes didn’t leave Emrys— _Merlin_. Merlin seemed to have an ability to make himself smaller and unobtrusive, even dressed in his outlandish garb. He faded into the shadows of the wall and the servants didn’t give him a second glance. But Arthur could pick out his shape and the gleam of those ice-blue eyes shot through with threads of gold.

Finally, Arthur had no choice but to step out of the tub and dry his body with the length of linen they draped over him. There was a charge of excitement in the room as the staff took in the restored vitality of their king. He thanked them and waited until his attendant had laid out a tunic and hose for him. Arthur always dressed himself and his staff knew that. When they had all departed, he looked again for the man in the shadows, but Merlin had vanished in the night or cloaked himself beyond Arthur’s vision.

“God damn you, Merlin,” Arthur said quietly, vehemently. “Devil take you to hell.”

Some nights he didn’t dream, too weary from long, grueling days. But twisted up in the past, it came unfurling back to him. He walked the forest paths with Emrys, following him through the alder thickets and the banks of wild roses. It was cool and fragrant with leaves and flowers new and old, the green growing out of the dead and Emrys said, “It’s all here, inside you.”

His fingers traced up the stem of a vining bramble and gold flowed like water from his fingers to the plant—or was it from the plant to his fingers? Gold stretched out around them in a web of shimmering roots, climbing up trees and circling fallen cones. Arthur saw it branching up his feet and legs. It spread through him—all bloodlines in his body turned gold. Emrys was pure light, a fey creature from another world.

In the morning, there was a plate heaped with breakfast left near his bed—fresh bread, stewed fruit, two pickled duck eggs, a meat pastry, and spiced cider. He ate a little, then rose to leave, making his attendant leap to his feet. “Sire, the queen has requested an audience with you, as have Duke Agravaine and Sir Leon. Shall I tell them you are ready to receive guests?”

“No,” Arthur said. “I’ll go myself.”

Passing flustered Hendrik, he opened the heavy oak door. The guards outside startled a little to see him. Perhaps they had expected to see his corpse emerging next. Everyone he met in the halls was surprised and jubilant to see him on his feet again. He wondered how Agravaine and his men would manage to hide their disappointment.

In the tower where his council met, he found Leon and Gaius sitting at the round table with a few of the other counselors, bowls of fresh fruit and scones scattered around the maps spread over it.

And near the center sat Merlin. He still wore his brown robe, but the hood was pulled away now, and his smooth dark hair spilled to his shoulders, curling at the ends. A close-trimmed beard covered his chin. His skin was tanned like a wheat farmer at the end of the harvest. His fine, high-boned features were still striking as ever, but he had a few small lines at the corners of his eyes. Gone was the pale, frightened druid boy from the past. His mouth pursed when he saw Arthur’s gaze on him. Then he took another bite of the scone in his hand, leaving a trace of pale cream on his bottom lip.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur demanded quietly.

Merlin chewed leisurely and swallowed. “Finding your poisoner. It’s an intriguing mystery, so I thought I’d avail myself of your advisors and see what insights they could provide.”

“So, you don’t think I did it to myself, after all?” Arthur said sharply, still burning with anger.

“No,” Merlin replied. He brushed crumbs off his fingers “I’ve revised my assumptions.”

Leon looked at Arthur like he’d seen a ghost. “God in heaven. You could barely move yesterday.”

“I got better,” Arthur said. He took a seat at the table. “And I see my savior has made himself right at home.”

“You can’t get scones like this in Constantinople,” Merlin said, taking another one.

“So far, we haven’t determined any likely suspects,” Gaius said, turning an orange in his hands. “You took ill shortly after the feast, and the hall was full of people. Any one of them might have administered the poison.”

“It’s not something you can slip into food or drink,” Merlin said. “It would have to be pricked into your blood—a pin, a thorn, a knife. Do you recall any stabs or cuts in that time?”

Arthur frowned, trying to think back to that day. The feast had passed in a flurry of movement. He’d been deeply preoccupied by reports of bandits from the north and was watching the rain falling with increasing concern for flooding. He’d resented being at the feast at all when there was so much to do. But tradition and honored guests had demanded his presence. He couldn’t remember any cuts, but…

“There was holly in the wreath,” he said quietly. “When they put it on my head, it scratched me a little, I think. It’s all a blur now.”

Gaius exchanged a look with Leon and Merlin continued to eat his scone messily.

“The children of the stewards make the wreath,” Gaius said. “But anyone could have added holly to it, I suppose, if they had the chance.”

“Or simply applied a tincture to the holly already on the wreath,” Merlin said. “Might you still have the wreath somewhere? I’d like to examine it.”

“I’ll ask the staff about it,” Gaius promised.

The door opened and in came Elyan and Percival, dressed in fine doublets. Percy still had his sword at his side but Elyan carried only a sheathed dagger on his hip. They both greeted Arthur with incredulous joy. Then Elyan’s eyes fastened on Merlin and a frown tightened between his eyes.

“A temporary advisor,” Arthur said. “His name is Merlin.”

Elyan bowed his head briefly. “Well met, Merlin. Have we known each other before? Your face is familiar.”

Percy opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“It’s possible,” Merlin said, still holding half a scone. “I have traveled extensively and met many different folk.”

“I thought I’d met you as well,” Leon said. “Perhaps we encountered you on one of our early campaigns, before we all got fat and lazy.”

The others laughed. Merlin smiled and continued chewing his bite of scone, but didn’t say anything else.

“Where’d all the fruit come from?” Percival asked shortly. He sat at the table and Elyan followed suit.

“Merlin brought it,” Gaius said, beaming. “Look at how fresh and sweet it is, even so early in the year!”

Arthur picked up an a golden-pink apple and studied it. The smooth skin and subtle fragrance were convincing enough. If Merlin had conjured it out of the air, he did it with great mastery. Arthur wondered, if he ate it, would it nourish him or simply vanish into nothing when the glamor faded?

He could tell that the knights were wary. They knew of his distrust of magic users. He put the apple down heavily. “What is there to report? Are the downs still flooding? Did Gwaine’s men drive back the bandits? Are Lord Gilhorn and Sir Baselt still at each other’s throats?

Leon made a sour face. “Yes, to all. Gawain’s company drove the bandits out, but the majority retreated to the forest. No doubt they’ll strike again soon. And Baselt has rallied the guilds to his cause, so Gilhorn and his faction are stirring up trouble among the nobles, trying to shut down production of fabrics and metalwork until a code of conduct is signed.”

“What kind of code?” Merlin asked. He had started to peel an orange, tearing up a long, curling strip.

Elyan’s mouth thinned to a tight line.

Percival said, “A code banning magic users from the craftsmen halls. Many are concerned about the use of magic in the guilds. They say it gives an unfair advantage and it’s dangerous besides.”

“They’ve been saying that since Arthur lifted the ban,” Percival said. “There’s been nothing but conflict over when and how magic can be used. Last year rioters burned half the market district.”

“And there was nothing but conflict before,” Arthur said wearily. “My father was just better at silencing naysayers and putting down troublemakers than I am.”

“No one wants a tyrant,” Gaius assured him. “You’ve done the best you could, sire.”

Arthur suppressed a heavy sigh. “Well, gentlemen, in this mess of our kingdom, what is our first priority?”

“The flooding,” Elyan said firmly. “If the farms are ruined, the kingdom starves. We must put our forces to work building drainage canals and dikes to keep the river out.”

“If the bandits burn their way through the southlands and the plague overruns Camelot, there won’t be anyone to feed,” Gwaine argued.

“Have there been heavy rains as of late?” Merlin asked.

Gwaine frowned at him. “Not any more than usual in the springtime. The river always floods its banks.”

“But not so far or so long,” Leon countered. “The harvest will be delayed if the farmers can’t plant. Some have already lost the seeds they sowed.”

Merlin nodded as though he understood something. Arthur wanted to shake that mysterious, knowing look off his face. “And what are the symptoms of this plague in the city?”

Gaius leaned forward. “Vomiting and loose bowels. A high fever sets in and they are unable to eat or drink. If the fever doesn’t break, they are unlikely to survive.”

“As is usually the case,” Merlin said levelly. “Bring me to one of the victims to examine.”

“Yes sir,” Gaius said, seeming the most excited for Merlin’s wisdom.

The knights looked a little more skeptical.

“Are you a man of medicine?” Percy asked Merlin.

“Among other things,” Merlin said. “I have collected a wide array of knowledge on different topics.”

Percy exchanged a look with Gwaine.

Merlin didn’t seem to notice the raised eyebrows. “After I consult with Gaius on the plague victim, you will take me to the floodplains.” He said this to Arthur as those he were addressing a man-at-arms. “We will see if we can patch up your wreck of a kingdom.”

Arthur bristled internally at the casual arrogance in Merlin’s address, but he had few solutions on hand. So, he just murmured a dark, “As you wish.” He would swallow his pride and use Merlin’s power to save his people.

Merlin’s voice echoed so differently in the space of the real world. In Arthur's head it was always a physical brush of words. To see Merlin's eyes flash and his lips move as he spoke was a strange sort of revelation. The mute, helpless boy was gone. This tall, dark man had all the confidence and fire of a prince fighting for his kingdom. Merlin was Emrys, and yet he was not. In his heart, Arthur mourned silently for the loss of his druid boy.

But it was better this way. If Merlin had been soft and admiring, like before, Arthur would have no defenses against him. He'd sweep him into the nearest surface and drink his fill. He'd make Merlin his bedmate, his companion, be helpless against him. He'd never let him go. This new, fierce Merlin kept him on edge and at a distance. There would be no loving glances and sweet, hidden interludes. He’d have to fight just to keep his balance.

When Merlin emerged from the infirmary with Gaius, he was already issuing orders. Gaius wrote them down on a sheaf of parchment spread hastily over a flattened board.

“And make sure the sage burns through the entire night,” Merlin was saying. “It will not be effective if it goes out. Continually provide clean fluids for those suffering to drink. I will make out a recipe for a soothing potion that will restore strength to those weakened by the ailment. Drain and scrub the wells, cisterns and all other water sources. Scrub all the homes with lemon water and have washing basins near all the latrines.”

“Lemon?” Gaius said, voice rising. “There can’t be more than a dozen lemons in the entire kingdom.”

“Vinegar then,” Merlin said. “I can…find lemons for you as well. But vinegar for now.”

“Oh,” Gaius said, scribbling another note.

The two of them noticed Arthur standing there with Elyan, watching the exchange with baffled interest.

“Sire,” Gaius said. “Master Merlin has all sorts of remedies for us. I pray they will be effective.”

“I’m sure they will,” Arthur said. He looked to Merlin. “When you are finished here, I am meant to escort you to the flooded fields.”

“Yes,” Merlin said, straightening. “Let us depart.”

On the way out, some of Agravaine’s men tried to catch Arthur’s attention, but he brushed them off. “When I return,” he said. No doubt Mithian was still waiting to see him as well, but he didn’t have the stomach to make polite conversation with her at the moment. He watched Merlin’s long back as he smoothly mounted the horse that the groom brough him. How long ago was it that he’d watched Emrys ride a horse by himself for the first time and rubbed the aches out of his muscles afterwards? How long since he’d looked up into those hopeful eyes and longed to kiss him? It felt like a thousand years. It felt like no time at all.

Merlin toured the farmlands and spoke with the planters there. He walked to the rising banks of the river, now flooding across grassy fields and turnip patches. He sloshed through the muddy water like a prophet, robes trailing and darkening. He waded deeper, splashing into pools and through the sagging rushes. Finally, he stopped and looked out at the rushing waters. He closed his eyes. The wind pulled at his dark hair.

He stood and stood and gradually the water began to ripple and swirl around him, tugging at his ankles. With a fluttering current, the floodwaters miraculously began to recede, slinking back toward the main body of the river, then the river itself started to shrink, pulling away. It narrowed and began to clatter over stones again. The floodwaters left wide fields covered in sticky mud and driftwood. But the water had gone.

"What did he do?" one of the field hands asked, eyes wide with awe.

Arthur only wished he knew. Had Merlin redirected the river, magicked the water away, sunk it deep down?

Merlin opened his eyes and stalked back to them, still wet and blackened with water and mud. His glistening robes clung to his front and legs. His boots oozed trickles of water. He gave them a small smile. "The earth was rejecting the water. I just convinced it to receive the river again."

"Rejecting the water?" Arthur repeated. "Why?"

"I don't know," Merlin said, seemingly unconcerned. "Someone talked it in to holding the water on this plane, perhaps. Or, the people did something to offend the earth. Make sure the farmers aren't dumping their refuse and night soil into the river."

"I'll make it an order," Arthur said, already wondering how exactly he would justify doing that. Camelot was not a pagan nation. The people would not like the inference that they should try to please the earth.

"Where next?" Merlin asked.

The guilds occupied the low streets along the wide central avenue. The scents of dyes and wood smoke and hot metal drifted between the shops and stalls. The metal-workers were all stripped down to aprons over breeches. Their furnaces radiated heat into the still air. The clang of metal on metal beat at Arthur's ears. Further down, the weavers hung their work from long poles—intricate tapestries, colorful blankets, and warm robes.

The dyers stirred their pots nearby, a reed screen separating their stinking tubs from the finished garments on the weavers' side. On the opposite side, the tailors were displaying their wares as well—new suits and coats and frocks. Arthur followed Leon inside the shop with Merlin just behind. Inside were rows of tables with men and women bent over cloth, cutting and sewing pieces together. Arthur was drawn to the sight of a young woman in a green dress on the far end, with a far greater pile of finished garments than the others. Her needle seemed to glide effortlessly through the coarse fabric. He glanced back and Merlin and saw a tight smile. A seamstress gifted with magic. He wondered how much animosity she garnered from her fellow workers.

"Greetings," the manager said, meeting them near the front of the tables. "Sir Leon, thank you for taking the time to resolve this issue." His eyes moved to Arthur and widened. Arthur wore no ornamentation or finery, but his face was embroidered on banners and stamps on coins. The manager stumbled to his knees. “Sire, this is a great honor.”

“Rise,” Arthur said impatiently. “We’re here for information on the workings of the guilds. You employ magic users, yes?”

“Yes,” the manager said cautiously, getting to his feet again. He adjusted his chaperon. “But we can release them, if that is your wish.”

“It is not,” Arthur said. ‘Not yet, anyhow. Do you have any quarrels amongst your workers—between those who use magic to do their work and those who can’t?”

“Certainly not,” the manager declared. “This is a peaceful guild. Our tailors and seamstresses are happy and content to work here.”

Arthur sucked back a sigh. What had he really expected to hear?

Leon said, “Doubtless your production is increased by the use of magic, as are your profits. Do those who use magic receive extra compensation for their contribution?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin standing near the woman in green, speaking quietly with her.

“Our workers are paid by the hour, as long as they meet the required quota,” the manager insisted. “It’s the best way to balance time and value.”

“Do all the guilds function this way?” Leon asked.

“It is the standard procedure,” the manager told him.

“And yet, if everyone is perfectly content, why is Lord Gilhorn insisting on this code of conduct that excluded magic-users?” Arthur demanded. “He says he has the heads of the guilds behind him.”

“Perhaps the metal-workers and the brewers,” the manager said, eyes darting between Arthur and Leon. “Just before the solstice, a whole vat of beer was spoilt rank and two blacksmiths’ shops burned down. Talk says it was spells gone wrong. Some worry that the mages are practicing to finish us all off and set up their own shops.”

“Hm,” Arthur murmured. “Beer spoils without magic and blacksmiths have forges full of sparks. Surely there are other possible explanations.”

“Certainly, sire.” The manager lowered his head deferentially.

“Thank you for your help.” Arthur gave him a gold coin for his time and the manager backed away, bowing.

Leon exchanged a look with Arthur. “You think this code is all superstition and fear?”

“There’s certainly enough of it in this city.” Arthur turned toward Merlin who appeared to be still in deep conversation with the young seamstress. “But I understand the fear. If another man could spell enough goods to put me out of business, I wouldn’t want him in my trade either.”

Merlin reached out and gave something small and shiny to the girl. She took it from him with a look of awe.

Arthur walked to the long table where the two of them were. “Have you made a new friend?”

Merlin’s sharp eyes met his easily. “This is Vivien. Vivien, King Arthur of Camelot,” the tinge of scorn in his voice when he said Arthur’s title did not stop the girl from scrambling off her bench. “No, don’t bow. He doesn’t care about that.”

She curtsied so deeply that Arthur thought she might fall forward, but she didn’t. She had swollen fingers with reddened tips and a burn on the side of her hand. There was also a bruise on the back of her neck, he saw, as her head tipped forward.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vivien,” Arthur said. “Thank you for speaking with us.”

“Anything you wish, your majesty,” she said in a small voice.

“Vivien’s parents were druids,” Merlin said. “She learned spells from childhood.”

“But I don’t use them, sire,” Vivien said, voice rising to a panic. “I only push a little power into the needle and thread, that’s all it is. No bindings or curses or sorcery.”

“Be at peace,” Arthur said, making a calming gesture. “We are grateful you have tools to do better work.”

“Some have accused her of cheating,” Merlin said tightly. “She worked for the weavers until they drove her out. Here they bully her too.”

Arthur wondered what Merlin wanted. “We will order that you are not harmed or intimidated any longer.”

As Merlin and Arthur left the building with Leon just behind, Merlin said, “What will it take for the mages of Camelot to live in peace and safety? Is there any antidote for the hate that arises from fear?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, feeling the weariness of fallen hopes down to his bones.

Arthur spent the rest of the afternoon with Agravaine and the council, trying to work out a solution for the demands of Mercia and Essiter. If Agravaine resented Arthur’s new good health, he masked in well in smiles and flattery. But every comment he made had the edge of doom as he reminded Arthur of all the trials troubles still weighed on Camelot. Although the flooding seemed to have ceased, whether the spread of plague could be halted and the guilds appeased remained to be seen. And the raiders on the frontier still had to be stopped before they gained a foothold in the valleys.

After reaching a standstill, Arthur suspended the council for the following day. The hour was growing late and he hadn’t eaten since the morning, but there was still so much to do. He hurried to the gardens where Mithian sat on vermillion cushions before a spread of sweetmeats and bread. Her handmaids surrounded her as they all watched the children play. Mithian wore light blue damask embroidered with silver thread, a cord of black beads woven with metal around her neck, and a slim coronet with a single sapphire rested in the pile of her golden hair and an intricately crafted torque encircled her neck. Despite her elegance, she looked worn and drawn. She tilted her head back as she watched the princesses, eyes half-closed.

Betinna, the eldest was nine and already wearing a long gown. She had to hitch it up in both hands as she ran, pursuing her younger sister. Arielle was seven and full of spirits, though she rarely showed this side to Arthur. He liked to watch her play, chasing hounds with sticks and declaring she was a gallant knight.

Arthur moved toward Mithian and her handmaids rose quickly to curtsy but Mithian just inclined her head.

“You look well,” she said. “Better at least.”

He wondered if she had wished for his death, but he couldn’t think of any advantage it would give her. She had no powerful allies at court, as far as he knew. The machinery of power would marry her off to another rich man, and her daughters too.

“Thank you, my lady.” He tipped his head. “I’m sorry to distress you.”

She didn’t answer, just looked away again, watching her handmaids at their embroidery. One of them offered her a cup of wine and she took it gingerly but didn’t drink. “Agravaine wants to betroth Betinna to Bayard’s second son.”

“I know. Isn’t it rather early to make those kinds of decisions?”

“Not for girls.” She pressed the rim of the glass against her lips but still didn’t drink. Her eyes darted toward the thick shrubbery of the lilac bushes. “Where is Arielle?”

Arthur squinted across the lawn. “Playing in the bushes, no doubt. I’ll find her.”

He strode through the winding paths lined with roses, lavender, and rosemary plants that grew as high as his elbows. He heard a shriek of high laughter and followed the sound to a little grove. In the center of a circle of cedar shrubs, a little marble bench stood with sculptures of stylized dragons on either side. On the bench sat Merlin, still dressed in his brown robes. He was spinning a circle of sparkling lights between his palms while Arielle stood before him, clapping and laughing with delight.

Arthur sighed. “Not exactly keeping your head down, are you?”

Merlin smiled but didn’t look at him, still juggling the multi-colored orbs of light. “Just a little display to entertain the young lady.”

Arielle’s face closed up when she looked at Arthur. She gave a short curtsey, as her mother had taught her. “Your highness.”

Arthur wanted to tell her to stop with the formalities and call him Father, but the words were trapped inside him. He inclined his head to her. “Princess. I’m sorry to interrupt. Your mother was worried. I’ll tell her you are well.” He looked at Merlin. “What you doing here, anyway?”

“Looking for herbs,” Merlin said without any same. “Your gardens are sorely lacking, I have to say. Not a sprig of mistletoe in sight.”

“Have Gaius show you his medicinal garden,” Arthur said. “Unfortunately, we don’t grow herbs for druidic rituals here, but I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding them in the forest.”

“If only the sacred groves and glens hadn’t been burnt away, perhaps I would,” Merlin said tartly. He made a motion with his hands and the lights absorbed back into his palms. “But thank you for your suggestion, my lord.”

Arielle gave a quiet whine of disappointment, so Merlin conjured a small stone animal and gave it to her. “This is called a camel,” he told her. “It has a hump on its back to hold water.”

She stared at it in disbelief. “Is it real?”

“In some parts of the world,” he said. “Now hurry back to your mother. It must nearly be time for your supper.”

She scurried away, clutching the stone animal to her chest like a precious gem.

Merlin’s gaze drifted to Arthur. “She looks nothing like you.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “So many have observed. Nonetheless, she is my daughter.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Merlin said, eyeing him. “Or do you just not want to be labeled a cuckold?”

“Whatever you’d like to imagine,” Arthur said caustically. “Think of me what you will.”

Merlin stood slowly, lacing his hands together. His expression was cool and unreadable. “I think you’re a good man with a sense of honor and duty that will get you in trouble. The conqueror of Albion needs an heir.”

Arthur breathed out slowly. “I’m not the conqueror.”

“You will be,” Merlin said without any hint of doubt.

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t desire that kind of power.”

Merlin’s mouth took on a bitter tilt. “It doesn’t matter what you desire. What is foretold will come to pass.”

“Just because you believe something is fated doesn’t mean you must make it happen.” He felt unsteady in the face of Merlin’s certainty.

“Try fighting fate,” Merlin said, moving closer. “See where it gets you. Maybe a slaver will cut out your tongue and leave you wishing for death, at the mercy of strangers.”

“I don’t want war,” Arthur said firmly, eyes locked on Merlin’s.

“And I don’t want to be your servant,” Merlin said, stepping into his space. Their faces were a handspan apart. “Yet here I am, mending your problems, healing your people, making toys for your daughter.”

“No one asked for you,” Arthur said, muscles trembling with the need to reach across and touch him.

Merlin laughed darkly. “You called for me. Year after year. You called for me endlessly, hopelessly.”

“And you never came.” Arthur’s voice was sharp and jagged in his throat.

“What would you have done if I did?” Merlin’s bright eyes were glittering with a challenge. His parted lips begged for Arthur’s mouth. Arthur wanted nothing more than to pull him close and consume him completely.

Instead, he sucked in a hard breath and turned his head. He heard Merlin laughing softly and it was more than he could bear. Arthur turned and walked away, out of the grove, out of the garden, out of time. He wanted to walk all the way to the sea and plunge into it, looking for the druid boy he’d lost so long ago.


	2. Chapter 2

Reports begin to fly in of villagers fleeing in the night. Then refugees streamed into the city speaking of frightening shapes breaking up through the earth, climbing over their homes and barns. Percival and Gwaine rode out to investigate and brought back a frightening tale of walls of thorns surrounding entire hamlets, huts and cottages covered in vines. It would take a whole company of swordsmen to hack through them and free the village.

Arthur pondered this new disaster. It wasn’t enough that bandits should be burning towns to the south. Now magicked vines were invading settlements to the east. The city could not support all the displaced villagers flooding into it.

He tried to console himself with the better news of the formerly flooded fields being replanted and the halted progress of the plague. According to Gaius, no new cases of the illness had been reported and Merlin’s remedies proved effective.

In the evening, he found Merlin in the west tower, perusing the library there. He’d made himself a nest of goose down cushions and woven blankets and was currently flipping through a large leather-bound volume resting on of a tall stack of other books. On the topmost self, a small brown and white owl perched, watching the scene serenely.

Arthur stared for a moment to take in it all. “Making yourself at home, I see.”

Merlin’s eyes glinted briefly up at his before he went back to his book. “Making more work for myself. Did you know that in your grandfather’s time, mages were considered the highest class of citizen? Each district of Camelot had a mage to make sure everyone was taken care of and they all served on a council to the king.”

“Hm,” Arthur said, still watching the owl. “Was it an effective system? Didn’t they have issues with corruption of power?”

“These history books only have glowing things to say about the kingdom and its administrators.” Merlin turned another page. “According to this historian, the people in charge can do no wrong.”

“I see. And how is this helping me?”

“If you can provide evidence to the guilds and the lords that history shows mages can be effective leaders and use their power responsibly, this whole code of conduct trouble can be resolved.”

“As easy as that,” Arthur said drily. “You don’t know Lord Gilhorn and his people. No history book is going to convince them that magic is not a tool for vile, greedy cheats.”

“Then you’ll have to just burn them at the stake,” Merlin muttered. He clapped the book shut with a thud that made the owl swivel its head. “I’ve also been trying to research the components for the curse that laid you low. But there’s not much in this library about spells and curses. Perhaps Gaius has something.”

“My father banned or burned most books on magic use,” Arthur said. “You won’t find anything here, unless Gaius is hiding one away. He’s always had an interest, I think.”

“No one seems to know who finished the wreath,” Merlin said. “But I have ways of tracking these things.”

His eyes gleamed in the candle light.

“Merlin, why is there an owl in the library?” Arthur asked carefully.

Merlin blinked and glanced up at the bird on the shelf. “To eat the mice, of course. They’ve been gnawing terribly on the books here.” He met Arthur’s eyes with a blithe expression. “All the cats were sleeping.”

“Of course.” Arthur felt a smile warming his face. “So, you summoned an owl into the library.”

“Invited,” Merlin said. “It’s nice to have company too.”

“Did you invite me, as well?” Arthur mused aloud. “Did you draw me here?”

Merlin cocked his head. “Do you have any skill for catching mice?”

The sly teasing in his gaze made Arthur want to nestle in close and pull Merlin into his arms. He pushed back against the wave of inexplicable affection rising in him.

“If we’re going to work together, we can’t be...”

“What?”

“You can’t try to seduce me or enchant me. I won’t get in bed with you again.”

“You think I would—” Merlin’s face twisted with fury. “I’d sooner cut off all my other organs than touch you, my lord. Fear not. There is no desire for you left in me.”

He lied. Arthur saw the heat in his gaze sometimes when Merlin watched him. He’d mistaken it for animosity at first, but Merlin’s eyes darting away made him think otherwise. No matter, let him throw up his walls. It would be better for them both.

As Arthur worked long into the night, reading countless missives and writing replies, he heard a knock on the door. Lancelot entered, looking worn.

“There’s been a death in the butchers’ quarter.”

Arthur raised his head. “What sort of death?” He knew Lance wouldn’t trouble him for a consumptive butcher or a stockman who drank himself to an early grave.

“Seems to be a ritual killing. Cuts on the throat, chest, and genitals. A triskelion carved over his heart. Plants and half-burnt candles scattered around.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold. “This happened in the city?”

“In a shed behind the stockyard. No one saw anything.”

Arthur sighed. “Get guard patrols set in that district and prepare them for riots and attacks. Try to get the body out before word spreads.” He rubbed his fingers on his temples. “And find Merlin, if you can. I need to speak with him.”

“Merlin.” Lance’s expression betrayed nothing. “The scholar that ordered the river back to its banks and halted the plague with herbal remedies.”

“Yes,” Arthur said firmly, glaring at Lance like a challenge. “The wiseman who brought me back from the dead.”

“And it’s only coincidence that he arrives in Camelot now.”

“Just get him already,” Arthur said tiredly. “Or send a servant to, I don’t care.”

Lance nodded and turned to leave.

Arthur sighed. “Thank you for coming to me immediately, Lance. You were right to worry.”

“The killer is not a druid,” Merlin insisted, looking at the scene of the murder. “These ‘herbs’ are just weeds. They have no meaning or application. And we don’t practice human sacrifices. That’s just a myth.

“It’s widely believed,” Arthur murmured. “That’s one reason my father gave for the purge of magic.”

The two of them were standing in the reeking shed in the middle of the night, filling the narrow space with the smoke of torches. The body had been removed and buried secretly by Arthur’s guards. Blood had turned the earthen floor black, though how much of it was from steers and how much from the human victim, Arthur couldn’t tell. The wilted greenery scattered there did look rather like a handful of weeds plucked from the roadside.

“Superstitious nonsense,” Merlin grumbled, sweeping his torch over the grisly scene. “Just another false reason to hate druids.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, feeling the exhaustion roll through him. “I know you would never use human sacrifice, but can you guarantee that no other druid would? Can you tell me with absolute certainty that this man wasn’t killed for magical gain? You told me magic has its price.”

Merlin remained silent for a moment. The orange light of his torch danced over his face. Then, with a grim expression, he said, “I can’t guarantee it. Blood magic…death magic is abhorrent to us. But it does have great power. I thought only monsters in legends ever used it.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “God help us if there is such a monster in Camelot.”

After a few hours of fretful sleep, Arthur woke and breakfasted with his council. Percy reported that the patrols sent to flush out the bandits had encountered only their trail of destruction, and their tracks that led across the border to Essetir again. Arthur wondered if the rivalry with Cenred would ever end. Year after year they bartered for peace, and then, like clockwork, the Saxons streamed out of Essetir to harry the people of Camelot, while Essetir’s villages and farms remained unharmed.

Once, long ago, he had come close to unveiling Cenred’s treachery. Then the sorceress had appeared and it all fell apart. Emrys had healed Arthur’s broken body, just as he saved Arthur again from the wasting curse. He owed his life twice to a man who would rather jump off a cliff than remain with Arthur. It was a queer course of events.

While they all discussed ways to trap the Saxons or mount a defense, Merlin sat in silence, slicing an apple into tiny pieces for his porridge. He did not appear at all fatigued from the late night before. His eyes were clear and assessing. His hair and beard were glossy in the morning light.

Agravaine and his men appeared before the council, pushing though the wide doors and striding to the round table. Agravaine’s red cloak swirled after him, the hue of the royal family. His eyes on Arthurs’ were fever-bright. “Sire, we’ve heard disturbing tales. Your illness was caused by magic, the flooding of the farmland was unnatural, the eastern villages are covered in terrible thorns, and now a dark druidic sacrifice has appeared in the heart of our city.”

“You have sharp ears,” Arthur said. “The first two troubles you mentioned are now resolved. We are dealing with the others.”

Agravaine turned his head toward Merlin. “Magic is threatening your kingdom again, and you bring this stranger to the center of your council—a man some say is a mage himself.”

“He is assisting us in our time of need,” Arthur said. He could see some of the knights and lords shifting uneasily. Perhaps they had their doubts about Merlin as well. But they knew how effective his solutions were.

“So, this Merlin is oath-bound to aid you and do nothing to harm Camelot?” Agravaine asked smoothly. “I must assume that he has sworn on his honor and life to serve the will of the king.”

Merlin’s face darkened, but he said nothing.

“We trust him,” Arthur said. “He has no ill will toward me or Camelot.” He doubted the words as he said them, but if Merlin’s talk of fate rang true, his destiny bound him steadier than any spoken words.

“I will swear an oath,” Merlin said, voice ringing through the room. He stood and moved to Arthur, kneeling at his feet. He lowered his head and his dark hair slipped off his shoulders. “I swear to protect and serve King Arthur and Camelot with all my ability.”

“Kiss the ring,” Arthur said quietly.

Merlin lifted his head and Arthur presented his hand, fighting to keep it steady. Merlin’s lips pressed lightly against the red gem in its golden casing, the only piece of jewelry Arthur wore outside of formal events. It was his signet and his inheritance. Merlin’s eyes rolled upward to meet Arthur’s and a heat ran through him. It left Arthur dizzy and unsure as Merlin rose to his feet and walked back to his place at the table.

Did spoken oaths have any true weight for druids? Arthur didn’t know, but the glee in Agravaine’s eyes had dimmed. When his ambitious uncle was thrown off center, it could only be good Camelot.

Merlin appeared in Arthur’s chambers that night, silent as a wraith. He did not come through the door or window, but he was there, sliding out of the shadows as though he had always been there. Arthur jolted to his feet, hand going for the knife at his belt.

Merlin just gave Arthur a twisted smile. His face was colorless and tense. “I have killed for you tonight.” It was then that Arthur saw his sleeves and hands were dark with blood.

Arthur swallowed hard. “Is that your blood or his?”

“His, though he wounded me in other ways. I barely had the strength to get here.”

“What happened?” Arthur asked, looking for injury.

Merlin stumbled as he walked, weaving his way to the stand where the wash basin sat. “It should have been easy. I slipped into the Saxon camp, into the commander’s tent and stabbed for his throat. But he wore protection charms. Powerful wards. They threw me back. It took heavy magic to break the shields. Much more than I had planned to use.”

Arthur’s head spun. “Charms from who? Are druids protecting the bandits?”

Merlin rinsed his bloody hands in the water. “I don’t know what their agenda is. But the one who made the wards…she is a rare talent. I do not wish to cross her.”

“An old friend of yours?”

“Once upon a time. In a different life.” His voice carried a note of pain.

Arthur swallowed hard. “If it is a fight with the druids…”

“Fear not,” Merlin muttered, drying his hands on the linen hanging there. His wrists were still pinkish and glistening. “I am your man, sir. Fate has made me your sword. I dare not deny it any longer.” His face had drawn into a grimace and, in that moment, he looked far older than his age.

“Damn fate,” Arthur said roughly. “I’d rather see you my foe than my seething, grudging ally.

Merlin clasped his damp hands together. “You truly hate, me, don’t you?”

Arthur stiffened. “Don’t you hate me? You said you wished me dead.”

Merlin sighed deeply. “I wish…” He seemed to struggle for the words. “I wish you weren’t a lead anchor on my life. I wish we weren’t…us. If only we could once again be Tor and Emrys, alone in the forest.” He snorted softly to himself. “It’s impossible, I know.”

Arthur braced his spine with iron and hardened his pleading heart. “It’s better not to think of such things.”

“Yes.” Merlin didn’t look at him.

“And…” Arthur’s throat tightened with the rising words. “I don’t hate you.” He should. He reminded himself of his father’s body spilled on the cobblestones, slaughtered by an unseen assailant. And who but Merlin had that kind of power? But it seemed cold and distant now, an old, gnarled wound.

“Thank you,” Merlin said in a flat tone, and Arthur couldn’t tell if it was mocking or sincere.

Arthur dreamed of the sea, the rolling breakers crashing into his body. He felt no cold, only the fizzing rush of the water around him. And there, beneath the surface of the foamy green-gray, there lay Emrys. Naked, he floated like a water spirit, long black hair drifting around his face. Clear bright eyes stared up at Arthur through the water, beckoning him silently.

Then a wave washed over him, hiding him from sight. Arthur plunged in, hands grasping for Emrys, but he felt nothing but the sea, deep and empty. He could have wept for his disappointment. But then, sudden arms enfolded him from the back, pulling him down into the water.

He couldn’t tell how deep they’d sunk, but the light on the surface of the water seemed very far away, Kelp drifted by, brushing Arthur’s face. A flock of silvery fish darted past, scales glittering like bits of mirror. Emrys’ arms held him tightly. Emrys’s body was pressed against his—every inch of skin and muscle warming him, drawing him into a wave of happiness.

Emrys’ hair brushed against Arthur’s neck and shoulders. Emrys’ lips moved against his ear and he said something that Arthur couldn’t understand. He wanted to sink deep into the center of that voice and never emerge.

Waking abruptly, Arthur twisted in bed, the yearning still rolling inside him. It had all been so vivid and visceral. Was Merlin sending him these dreams to torment him? He clambered out of his bed and yanked off the coverings, shook out the pillows. He remembered, as a child, his nurse searching all his belonging for totems and witch-marks that might charm him. In that time the kingdom was still reeling from the fear and violence of the Great Purge, and many feared the mages would take their revenge on the royal family.

His chamberlain heard the racket of his search and came into help, looking only slightly bewildered when Arthur told him what to look for. But they could find no twists of hair or elf stones or straw dolls or runes. In the end, Arthur was forced to confront the fact that either Merlin’s charm was too well hidden, or, more likely, the spell he cast over Arthur was one of Arthur’s own making.

“One Saxon warlord is dead,” Leon said levelly. “Another will rise to fill his place. If we truly wish to end this scourge, we must confront Cenred.”

“We have,” Arthur argued. “Year after year. We bargained, bartered, signed treaties, bribed him with gold. We set up troops on the border. Nothing has stopped them. Instead he accuses Camelot of trying to brew a conflict.”

“We should have burned Essetir to the ground years ago,” Gwaine muttered. “Cenred’s witch already tried to kill you once.” His eyes shifted to Merlin uneasily as though trying to gauge his reaction. So, Gwaine had made the connection between Emrys and Merlin, though he was likely still trying to work out in his head the feasibility that the mute boy who plunged off the cliff might be the bearded man sitting there speaking with them. Arthur wondered how many of the other knights suspected it too.

“Cenred will never settle for peace, unless he is truly afraid,” Merlin said. “You must make a show of strength that will make him tremble.”

“And what do you suggest, Master Merlin?” Elyan asked. “Our armies are no greater than his and we cannot ask our men to die without war, in order to intimidate a king.”

“War will come,” Merlin said calmly, drawing surprised and tense looks from the room. “Prepare yourselves now, for there is no stopping it.”

“Are you a seer, my lord?” Lance asked, a hard note in his voice.

“No,” Merlin said. “But I knew one. She told me the kings of Albion will fall before Pendragon.”

Silence covered the room. Then Gaius cleared his throat and spoke up. “Prophecies are imprecise, my lords. This Pendragon could be one of the future, an heir of our king.”

Unlikely, Arthur thought, as he knew they all were thinking. Even if the throne went to the eldest princess, she would lose the Pendragon name when she married. And doubtless they would marry her off as soon as Arthur was gone.

“We are always prepared for the possibility of war,” Leon said. “Let us instead dwell on the progress we have made. There are no new cases of the plague, Gaius?”

“Yes,” Gaius said beaming. “And most of its victims are recovering thanks to the treatments prescribed by Master Merlin. And there is more good news, sire! With Merlin’s guidance, we have located a serving girl said to have held the feasting wreath last. She went missing after the event, but we were able to track her to her mother’s house in Glevum. Perhaps she will have answers for us.”

“Excellent,” Arthur said. “Do not harm her. Let us see if she can be bribed into revealing conspirators. I cannot think I have given any offense to a serving girl that would make her wish to lay a wasting curse on me. Doubtless another directed her actions.”

Gaius started to say something, but a loud knock on the door interrupted him.

Arthur grimaced, hoping it wasn’t Agravaine with another demand. “Enter,” he said.

A messenger pushed through the doors, face pale. “Sire, there’s been another killing.”

In the money-changing quarter, a swarm of people clustered around the body, like hungry flies. They scattered as Arthur’s knights moved in, clearing the crowd before him. As Arthur and Merlin drew closer, they saw what appeared to be a middle-aged woman with graying hair. Her throat and wrists were cut and the blood drained out of her. It dried on her skin like brown-red ornaments. The triskelion carved above her breastbone looked clumsy and crude. A wooden rune was stuck to her forehead.

“What does it mean?” Arthur demanded quietly.

Merlin shook his head. “This was meant to be found. See how little blood is on the ground? They killed and drained her elsewhere and left her corpse here like a warning. The rune is a symbol for summer rains. Druids use it in times of drought.”

“Do they wish to flood Camelot?” Arthur asked. “Or is this just warning to me to stop meddling in druid affairs?”

“I can’t say,” Merlin admitted. “But everyone here will assume it’s a human sacrifice. No mages will be safe tonight.”

The serving girl, Sefa looked as though she’d been crying all day. Her eyes were red and the skin around them had swollen puffy pink. She crouched on a bench in her cell, holding a quilt wrapped tightly around her.

“I told them she wasn’t to be harmed,” Arthur said roughly.

“She hasn’t, sire,” the guard assured him. “We’ve given her everything and asked her nothing. It’s just wearing to be shut away in a prison far from your kin.”

“Yes,” Arthur said. The girl wouldn’t meet his eyes at all. He looked to Merlin who stood just behind him. “Perhaps you could speak with her.”

Merlin bowed his head and moved closer. “Sefa,” he said quietly. “Do not fear. There is no torture nor threats coming. We only wish to know who is determined to curse his majesty near death.”

“We never meant him to die!” Sefa said. “She…I was told that he’d just be weakened.” Her glistening eyes flew to Arthur again. “Your highness, I only did it for my father. He said it would bring peace for the followers of the Old Religion. You are not a cruel man, but our faith isn’t welcomed here. And the Lady told me I must play a part in the destiny of Albion and save our people. But not at the price of your life.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “This Lady you speak of, she is the one who directed you? She and your father?”

Sefa’s shoulders tightened together. “I cannot speak her name. Nor that of my father.”

“They set a spell on me that would have drained all the life out of me,” Arthur said. “You tell me they mean no harm, but their actions speak otherwise. Tell me who my enemies are so I can defend myself.”

Sefa shook her head vigorously and pulled the blanket up over her mouth and nose. “I am willing to die for my father and the Lady.”

Merlin looked at her for a very long time. A glow of gold swirled into his eyes. “You won’t die, Sefa. You have not betrayed them, but I know their names.”

Sefa gasped. Arthur’s throat tightened.

“You have dangerous enemies, my king,” Merlin murmured.

Cold fingers of fear slithered down Arthur’s back. “Now do you see why my father banned magic?” He cast a scowl at Sefa, still cowering on the bench, then turned away, striding swiftly for the exit. Merlin’s quieter footsteps echoed behind him.

When they left the dungeon and reached the top of the stairs, Arthur stomped down the hall into the first empty room. He moved to the long window stretching up to the ceiling. The training yard spread below, and the barracks beyond that. Men in hauberks and long tunics battled with pikes and blunted swords, looking small and insignificant from this distance.

He didn’t hear Merlin, but he knew he was there. The door shut gently. Silence choked the room.

Arthur took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have told her she’d be spared. She acted treasonously and refused to reveal the names of those who ordered her. That is no light offense.”

“She is a foolish child trying to please her father. Just as your father taught you to fear magic, her father taught her to fight for the Old Religion.”

Arthur bit his lower lip. “Is it the druids, then?”

The rustle of robes moved closer. “Yes. A druid named Morgana laid the curse on you and also the protection charms for the Saxon warlord. I don’t know what her purpose is, but I will find it.”

“You don’t know?” Arthur repeated incredulously. “You don’t know why druids might wish me dead and my kingdom in ruin?” He turned to face Merlin.

Merlin stood with his arms around himself, frowning into the distance. “Morgana knows I was to be your weapon. She knows you will conquer. She saw the prophecy. If she is acting against you now, she is acting against fate itself.”

“Fate,” Arthur hissed. “You think everything is determined for us, that we have no choice? Was it your fate to kill my father?”

Merlin’s shoulders dropped. He lifted his head and his smile was like a grimace. His eyes were wide and hot on Arthurs. “Finally, we come to this.”

Arthur’s heart burned in his chest. “Tell me it wasn’t you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

A muscle in Merlin’s jaw twitched. “Would you believe me, if I told you so?”

The curl of hope in Arthur shriveled and died. He covered his face with one hand. “I told myself it must be you. But I didn’t want to believe.” He ground his teeth together. “How do you expect me to forgive such a crime?”

Merlin’s voice came low. “Did you expect me to forgive Uther for the murder of my family and friends?”

“So, death deserves death,” Arthur said bitterly. “By that logic, I should kill you for what you did.” He stalked close to Merlin, meeting his dark gaze. Defiance and guilt warred in that face. Even then, Merlin was beautiful. “Is it even possible to kill you?” His hand closed around Merlin’s throat. He was almost surprised to feel the rasp of beard on his fingers and the pulse of Merlin’s blood. “So, you are flesh and bone.”

Unresisting, Merlin looked deeply into his eyes. He said nothing. His lips parted and Arthur felt the rush of his breath. A tremor ran through Arthur, hating and wanting. He tried to picture again in his head the death of his father, struck down without challenge, unarmed, helpless.

Merlin shivered as Arthur’s thumb ran over the underside of his jaw. His mouth opened wider, as though to speak, but he didn’t. His eyes moved away from Arthur’s again. His pulse beat fast.

“Do you have any weakness?” Arthur whispered, leaning in, trying to catch those eyes again. His fingernails scraped lightly against the back of Merlin’s neck.

Then Merlin lifted his eyes to Arthur’s again. There was no spark of gold in them, but Arthur felt as though a magical current was running through him. “You,” Merlin breathed. He looked on the verge of furious tears.

Arthur kissed him. His hands went to either side of Merlin’s face and his mouth surged to Merlin’s, swallowing Merlin’s startled gasp. The contact sent a gale of painful desire hurtling through him. He devoured Merlin’s mouth like a starving man. Merlin opened, yielded to him. His arms slid up under Arthur’s and gripped his shoulders from the back.

For a handful of breathless moments, Merlin kissed him, clutched at him. Then he turned his head away panting and his hands were pushing Arthur back instead of pulling him close. “Wait,” he panted. “This is madness.” He looked unsteady and frightened. His pupils swallowed the light. “You know what I did…and who I am.”

Arthur knew, but all that was far away and Emrys was here so near to him. It was like moving through thick honey. “I don’t care anymore,” he said roughly. “Emrys, can’t you see—”

Merlin winced at the name. His body stiffened. “And your wife…”

“My wife?” Arthur couldn’t understand what he meant.

Merlin shook off his touch and moved away. “I know kings and nobles can bed who they please. No one cares how many mistresses you have. But I think of the queen. She has no one but you.”

“Mithian?” Arthur said incredulously. He dropped his arms away from Merlin. The fever of his desire was turning back into anger. “She has company, I can assure you. I gave her everything she asked for. You saw for yourself that the girls are not my blood.”

Merlin clasped his hands together. “So, she did have a lover.”

“Proving that her womb is fertile; it’s simply that my seed won’t take root.” He looked bitterly at the shining panes of the window. “Gaius believes that because I was conceived by magic, I may be unable to have offspring of my own.”

“And you’re certain that neither of the girls is yours?”

“The timing would be impossible. When the first was conceived, I was away on a campaign. And Arielle happened when I hadn’t visited her chambers for months. But she’d found another to keep her company.” He let out a long breath. “I cannot fault her for wanting love. And I cannot fault her for wanting the best for her lover. I gave him a title and lands, at her bidding. But as soon as he had wealth, he married a noblewoman and moved to his estate. Mithian has hated me ever since.”

Merlin lowered his head. “She too had little choice in her fate.”

Arthur scowled. “Don’t make yourself into a martyr, Merlin. No one is keeping you here. You’re not trapped in a loveless marriage. You can do anything you like.”

“Can I?” Merlin looked sorrowful and fierce in the same moment. “If I leave you to yourself, will you regret not begging me to stay?”

Arthur stared at him, aching and confused. Then Merlin tipped his head to the side and vanished without a sound.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of conferences on the state of the kingdom, the prospects for housing refugees, the conflicts between the guilds, conflicts between the nobles, assessing the state of the treasury, allocating troops, and cleaning the wells of the city.

The topic of punishment for Sefa, the poisoner, remained contentious. The nobles and even some of the knights advocated for executing her. She had anointed the crown with a potion given to her, knowing that it would sicken the king. Whether or not she knew it would draw him to the brink of death, she had acted in a plot against him, and it was treason. Arthur told them he needed some time to make the decision. His head felt thick with a haze of discontent.

When Gaius asked Arthur where Master Merlin had gone, he just shook his head. “Wherever it pleases him.”

He felt stiff and empty with disappointment. When night came and Merlin still hadn’t made an appearance, Arthur had to face the fact that he might be gone for good. _“Will you regret not begging me to stay?”_ Arthur didn’t beg or plead. And he didn’t need a rude, resentful wizard to make his decisions for him. He’d lived without Merlin for twelve years. He would continue to survive without him.

The night was very long. Every footstep in the hall, every whisper of cloth made Arthur’s ears twitch with hope. But he was alone all night. And in the morning, there was still no sign of Merlin.

Arthur took his horse for an early ride over the downs, no armor, only his heavy cloak and sword. The mist hung heavy over the long grass and his mare was eager to fly through it. The stable boys had exercised her during his illness, but she hadn’t had a good run through the fields in a long time. Scrub brush and stony outcroppings whirred past them. The air chilled Arthur’s face, but his body was warm under the cloak, rocking with the strides of his mare. The sky clustered a gray mass of clouds, though no rain fell.

When they reached the edge of the hills, he reined her in gradually, slowing her speed. She trotted along the tree line, head held high, breath snorting.

They had finally settled into a cooling walk, when the high sound of an arrow on the wind hit Arthur’s ear. A bolt slammed into his back, knocking him off the horse. He hit the ground, agony blasting through him. As soon as he could push himself up, he went for his sword.

Now he saw the man by the tree line, crossbow raised. Arthur stayed crouched behind his mare. He put a hand on her side to reassure her, but he could tell the scent of his blood made her nervous. He murmured to her, praying she wouldn’t run. Every movement was excruciating. It was hard to breathe and he wondered if the shaft had pierced a lung.

The bowman advanced swiftly and confidently. He must have known Arthur didn’t have a ranged weapon. Unless Arthur could get back on the mare and immediately kick her into a gallop, he was as good as dead. And it was unlikely the assassin would miss from this range.

The point of the bolt loaded in the crossbow stared at him like an evil eye, drawing ever closer. Arthur pondered his chances of weaving and dodging to strike the bowman with his sword. But every shift of his body sent splintering pain through him. Blood ran hot down his back. He could barely hold himself upright.

The mare shied at the approach of the stranger with the weapon, and sidled away, leaving Arthur stumbling and exposed. The bowman aimed the crossbow at him with a smirk.

Then a wave of force pushed him down into the earth with a palpable cracking sound. The crossbow was yanked out of his hands by invisible strength.

Merlin appeared beside Arthur like a ghost out of a dream. His eyes blazed gold. He wrapped one arm around Arthur, bracing his weakened body and his hand closed around the base of the shaft in Arthur’s back. Arthur clenched his eyes shut, but the bolt inside him seemed to dissolve into nothing. Blood flowed down his back and Merlin’s hand covered the wound. “Stay still,” he murmured. His head was tipped close to Arthur’s and his hair brushed over Arthur’s shoulder. A cooling sensation spread over Arthur’s back, numbing the pain. His flesh itched and seemed to stretch out in an odd sensation.

The befuddled bowman was trying to scramble to his feet, but a slight gesture from Merlin’s free hand slammed him into the earth again. He did not rise after that. Merlin sighed. “I’d kill him, but I thought you might need to question him.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said hoarsely. He felt he must be dreaming all this, but the sensations were so real.

After a moment, Merlin removed his hand from the wound. His palm was red and slick with Arthur’s blood. Merlin stared at it for a moment, then raised a finger to his mouth and licked it. The blood left a smear of red on his bottom lip. Merlin’s eyes shimmered with another burst of gold.

“There’s magic in your blood,” he said quietly. “It’s calling to me. Can you feel it?” His voice had a note of strained desperation. “Goddess help us. It’s yearning for mine.”

Arthur could only gape at him. It was unreal and terrifying, yet he knew it was true. His body and his heart were reaching silently for Merlin, a constant wanting. “What does it mean?” he asked.

Merlin clenched his hand and a trickle of Arthur’s blood ran down his wrist to his sleeve. “It explains what attracts us. You were conceived with magic, but you cannot use it. You are a well of potential energy for my hungry magic. It’s as though you were made for me.”

“That’s all it is?” Arthur said, welcoming the easy explanation. “Magic binds us?”

Merlin’s eyes were hooded now. “So it seems.”

It should have been a relief to know, to have something to blame for his cursed weakness for the druid, the constant longing. But somehow it left Arthur low and empty. He’d felt dizzy with love for the boy Emrys, once. But it was all a matter of lodestones clicking together without choice.

They bound the unconscious assassin and threw him over the back of the horse. It was a long walk back to the walls of the city, but Arthur barely felt any pain at all. “Where did you disappear to?” he asked Merlin at last.

“I went to the druids,” Merlin said softly. “I spoke with a representative for the Lady Morgana. She wishes to meet you in the sacred grove.”

Arthur looked at him in amazement. “Why? Can she not make her demands by messenger? Doesn’t this strike you as another opportunity to lure me into druid territory and finish me?”

“No one may be killed in the sacred grove,” Merlin said. “It is the safest place to meet.”

“For you, perhaps,” Arthur grumbled. “I suspect they may make an exception for me. Did she give any indication as to what she wants?”

Merlin looked pensive. “She has seen the future. She knows what is coming, and she wants to make her intentions clear. Don’t worry, I will be there with you. They will not harm you.”

“Can you take on an entire coven of druids?” Arthur asked. “It sounds like a trap to me.”

“I said you will be under my protection,” Merlin insisted with some impatience. “No one will harm you.”

“You are very confident in yourself,” Arthur grumbled.

“I know you will rule Albion. I know I will fight at your side. You will not die in a sacred grove.”

The certainty in his voice soothed Arthur’s jangling nerves. They walked back to the gates of the city in peaceful silence.

But when they reached the inner courtyard, the atmosphere of the city crackled with thunderstorms. A crowd had gathered around the central cistern where a body lay draped over the stony edge. Both wrists were cut and curling triskelions were burned into each palm.

The rioting started in the western part of the city. Carts were overturned, mud and rotten vegetables thrown at houses and businesses. An angry mob marched down the thoroughfare shouting vitriol against the mages of the city. The call went out to drag out the murderous sorcerers hiding amongst their non-magical neighbors. No one had thrown a torch yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Arthur sent out the army to keep the peace, but the people turned against them too, hurtling filth and insults at the soldiers and the weak king who led them, a man who didn’t have the stomach to keep evil magic out of Camelot, as his father had.

It was a very long night, but other than a burnt pig shed and a dozen or so wrecked market stands, there was little destruction. A few soldiers suffered injuries from projectiles thrown at them, and Percy claimed he’d never be able to wash the scent of pig dung out of his hair, thanks to a citizen with excellent aim.

The wound on Arthur’s back had healed to a tight scab. When questioned, the assassin claimed that druids had hired him to kill the king. Arthur wondered why magic users would need to hire a seemingly ordinary man with a crossbow to kill him. There were far too many questions to be answered.

In the morning, Arthur rode into the forest with only Merlin as his guide. The darkness of the trees closed in around them. They followed the road for some ways until Merlin turned his horse off onto a thin deer trail. For a long time, they continued this way in silence with only the crunch of detritus under the horses’ hooves and the shrill songs of birds.

“Is there anything I should know about the rituals or expectations of the sacred grove?” Arthur asked at last. “I’m surprised you haven’t blindfolded me.”

Merlin sent him an amused look over his shoulder. “You’ll never find it on your own. There are wards and glamours set up to hide it from those who do not follow the path of the goddesses. As long as you don’t defecate on the stones or burn down the trees, you will be fine.” He let his hood slide off his head and his dark hair spilled out. “Many years have passed since I have been to the sacred grove myself. But little changes in these places.”

Arthur watched the easy movements of Merlin’s hips and shoulders as he rode. He gathered his reins in one hand. “Where did you go?” the question cut out of him like a blunt blade. “Where did you go after you plunged into the sea?” He knew the immediate answer even as he spoke and it made his eyes burn.

“I wandered along the coast for days, letting the ocean carry me. She gave me fish and kelp to eat and drifted me to freshwater inlets when I needed to drink.” Merlin turned his head away. “So much power flowed through me. I felt helpless to choose a path. But there was one thing the ghosts of my family and home asked of me. So, I went to Camelot and killed Uther Pendragon. Do not ask me to regret it. He was an evil man.” His voice wavered. “Though I do regret hurting you.”

The reins bit into Arthur’s hands. He blinked at the long, steady line of his mare’s neck, the golden-brown mane trailing over it. There were too many things to say, and so much he didn’t want to admit feeling. “And after that?” he asked in a rasp.

“East across the sea to the continent. I learned to fly across the water like a bird and let the current carry me when I grew weary. I made my way from the white beaches through the farmlands of Brittainy and continued east. There are great cities with grand temples and palaces. There are libraries full of endless knowledge. And so I continued year by year moving from place to place, drinking in the sights and drawing in the words of learned men and women. I didn’t want to hide away without any gain so I kept myself amused and entertained, always seeking out new things.”

“And lovers?” Arthur found himself asking.

Merlin sent another assessing look back at him. “Yes. I met some very intriguing people in my travels. As my mind learned, my body learned as well.”

Arthur stewed silently, imagining Merlin entwined with others. Did he look at them with that shy longing, that leaping light in his eyes that Arthur remembered so well when pressing him into the side of a tree. But Merlin was no longer the blushing young Emrys who kissed with the taste of wild strawberries in his mouth.

“Come now,” Merlin said with a hint of exasperation. “Surely you had your pick of women and men, as the crown prince and then the king. Don’t tell me Queen Mithian and I were your only conquests.”

“I’m afraid my experience is limited,” Arthur said tightly. “I could hardly sire bastards or sully my honor with affairs. And the business of running a kingdom provides little time for bedroom play. Forgive me for spoiling your fantasies of my love life.”

Merlin chuckled. “No need to take your frustration out on me. If your wife had a lover, you should take one too.”

“Yes?” A pulse of energy ran through him. He found himself smiling at Merlin.

“No.” Merlin gave him a warning look. “Not me. A suitable lover, like a pretty widow or a strapping young man eager to please you.”

“Or a fierce wizard drawn to the magic in my blood?”

“No,” Merlin said again, but there was a catch in his voice. “That way lies disaster. I am your weapon, not your love.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Arthur grumbled. “You yearn for me and I for you. Fate has brought us together.”

Merlin gave a soft snort of breath. “Have you already forgotten that I killed your father?”

Arthur shook his head, chest aching. “It was not undeserved. You had reason to seek his death. I can’t give you my blessing, but I can understand and forgive.”

Merlin was silent for a long moment. “What kind of king are you to let an assassin into your bed?”

“I don’t claim to be wise,” Arthur murmured. “But I can’t endure this, Emrys. We torment each other each day, for what? For pride? For dignity? I have none left.”

Merlin looked out into the dense tangle of the forest. “I wish sometimes that we’d never left the woods, you and I. If I asked you now, would you run away with me and leave all the trappings of kingship behind you? Here, we might forget and be happy.”

Arthur closed his eyes, imagining it. Yes, he could be happy, hidden away from the world with Merlin. But at what price? The circle of faces around the Round Table filled his mind. They all looked to him for the responsibility and guidance of the realm.

Merlin’s soft laugh made him open his eyes again. “Of course, you can’t,” Merlin said. “You were born to be king. Every soul and every blade of grass in this land knows you are king. You will be the greatest ruler Albion has known. No forest can hide that away.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “I wish it could be different.”

“We walk the paths that are given to us,” Merlin said.

After hours winding though invisible trails, crossing streams and climbing over gullies and fallen trees, they came to a circle of huge trees grown tightly together like the wall of a palisade fort. Moss covered their lower trunks, sparkling with tiny water droplets. Each tree was so wide Arthur couldn’t span it with his arms. Far above, their heavy branches lifted to the sun.

There appeared to be no way in. They circled it twice while Merlin stared at the gnarled bark and the tufts of ferns. Finally he pressed his hand to a thin gap between two heavy trunks and they nudged apart like lips on a mouth, opening a narrow gap. Arthur didn’t want to go through, but he couldn’t remain outside while Merlin slid in. Gritting his teeth, he climbed through the damp, mossy hole and found himself stumbling into a circle of bright green.

The trees should have blocked the light, but it filled the interior of the grove in golden rays. It shone on the heaps of pale stones and the two narrow saplings springing forth on either side. Metallic trinkets, bits of precious stones, and woven strips of reeds and grass were tucked into all of the crevices of the stones. On the large flat surface of the shrine, a bowl of red liquid sat, shimmering.

The sound of cloth shifting made Arthur spin around, hand reaching for his sword.

The woman who appeared so suddenly behind them could be no one other than the Lady Morgana. She wore a long white shift under her dark brown cloak. Her rippling chestnut hair spilled out over her shoulders. A thin garland of faded, dried mistletoe encircled her head. A woven green cord tied around her waist dangled its ends nearly to the ground. Small chunks of amber were tied to its ends. The necklace around her neck appeared to be woven from strands of human hair, and at the end of it was the tip of an elk's antler. She looked like a woodland goddess approaching from the shadows. Her eyes had the deep, terrifying knowledge of the ages in them. It made the hairs on his neck stand up to see her there, a lazy grace in her movements.

“Emrys,” she said. “You have finally stopped running.”

Merlin nodded silently, keeping a distance. “I should have never asked you for a vision.”

She smiled. “This is the way it was always meant to be.”

Arthur stiffened. “And your attempt to murder me with a curse was also meant to be?”

She turned her serene face to him. “All men die, Artorius. Your time also will come.”

“You saw the portents,” Merlin said. “You know he will conquer Albion and you told me not to fight destiny. Why are you fighting it, then? Why are you working against Camelot?”

“We all have our roles to play,” she said, eyes flashing. “I have seen more than you even glimpsed. The Old Religion will rise again and the kings of this world will submit to it. Even you, Pendragon.”

“Is that why druids are sacrificing the people of my city?” he demanded. “These killings are only turning Camelot against magic users.”

“Chaos boils the cauldron of chance,” she murmured. “Camelot is brewing for the victor. Your enemies hunger to dip into the stewpot.”

Arthur’s chest constricted. “Is there no chance of peace between my people and yours?”

“Spare the girl,” Morgana said. “She is Ruadan’s only child.”

“And you will halt your attacks against us?” Arthur asked

She smiled again, slowly. “No. That is not for me to determine. But if you kill her, your heart and your path will be clouded forever.”

“Why did you even ask to meet with me, if you have nothing to say?”

“I have said much, if you’d troubled yourself to listen. The spindle of fate must be threaded and the worsted wound. All the pieces are set in place now. It remains to see how you will play the game.”

“A game where you aim to kill me?” Arthur glared.

She laughed low and throaty. “I only do what I am bound to do. For I tell you truly, before the next harvest, the child of Uther Pendragon must die. I have foreseen it.”

Arthur’s hand tightened on his sword.

“No,” Merlin said harshly. “I won’t allow it.”

Her dark eyebrows raised slightly. “You know the consequences of denying fate, Emrys. But yes, fight for your lord. It has always been your way to battle the inevitable.”

“Goodbye, Morgana,” Merlin said in a hard voice. He lifted his hand to Arthur’s shoulder.

“Goddess be with you, Emrys,” she said.

She dissolved into a swarm of black. The dark shapes whirled toward Merlin and Arthur. Arthur ducked instinctively and covered his face. The squawks and beating of wings told him it was a flock of birds. When the noise ceased. He opened his eyes to see the grove disappeared. He stood with Merlin in a forest glen of alders and ash trees.

Merlin moved close to him, inspecting his face. “Are you well?”

“As well as one can be who only has a few moons to live,” Arthur said grimly. The touch of Merlin’s hands on the sides of his head eased his heavy heart.

Merlin’s eyes filled with gold. “I should have set protections on you long ago.” His hands moved from Arthur’s head down his neck and shoulders, the length of his arms. His fingers sliding over the back of Arthur’s sent strange thrills Arthur’s body. Then Merlin swept his hands down from Arthur’s chest to his belly, hips, and down his legs. He sank low to the forest floor, palms touching Arthur’s feet.

“If I die, promise me…” He tried to think of what might be in Merlin’s power to do. “Try to keep the peace in Camelot. And don’t let Agravaine barter away the girls for his own benefit.”

“You won’t die,” Merlin said, rising slowly to stand before him again. “Not for many years. I know your destiny and it lies with me.”

“Twice you saved my life,” Arthur said, feeling his eyes burn. “No, thrice when the assassin shot me. I cannot ask for more.”

“I’d save your life a thousand times, son of my enemy,” Merlin said, eyes shadowed in the dim forest. “I hated the thought of being leashed to you, but you are not a demanding master. In fact, you push me away so often I wonder that you even need me.”

Arthur gave a shaky laugh. “Merlin, I never needed anyone more. I never wanted anyone so powerfully.” He set his hands lightly on Merlin’s sides. He felt the pull of Merlin’s lungs under his touch. He felt the painful desperation rise inside him like a bittersweet flood. “I am not your master. I am your helpless fool.”

Merlin started to speak, but stopped when Arthur slid down to kneel before him. He pressed his face against Merlin’s belly, then slid lower to breath on his groin. Merlin gave a shuddering gasp. When Arthur nuzzled him there, Merlin’s hands pushed into his hair, fingers stroking Arthur’s scalp.

Arthur pushed up the long robes, impatiently, ducking his head under the fabric, then clawing at the leggings beneath. The scent of Merlin’s skin and the heat of his arousal was pungent there. Merlin’s stiff prick sprang free and Arthur licked it messily, not really knowing what he was doing. It was enough to hear Merlin’s gasping moans and feel the hunger rolling through his body. Arthur’s own tool was straining in his breeches. He licked and sucked with blind determination before taking Merlin’s shaft in his hand and stroking it with the rhythm of his ministrations.

Merlin groaned obscenities and thrust shallowly into Arthur’s eager mouth. “Arthur,” he gasped. “I can’t…”

The pulse of his seed filled Arthur’s mouth even as he continued to thrust. Arthur felt gold run through his vision and shatter in his blood. He could taste Merlin’s sweet ecstasy swimming inside his own veins, saturating his body. The shock of release sent him shaking and overwhelmed with bursts of pleasure. Spend and spit ran down his chin.

Breathing hard, Merlin touched his thumb to Arthur’s mouth and pulled away slowly. His robes lifted from Arthur’s head and Arthur could see the daylight again. He wiped his mouth and stared up at Merlin’s blue eyes threaded with gold.

Merlin sank to his knees facing Arthur. His hand touched the front of Arthur’s breeches and he smiled to find them already wet with Arthur’s seed. He tilted his head and kissed Arthur slowly, thoroughly. His hands guided Arthur’s head. His mouth had a fierce power. Arthur felt he was floating in a dark, warm sea.

When Merlin pulled away, the molten burn of his eyes enfolded Arthur completely. “Then we’re two fools with no care for disaster.” His hands cupped Arthur’s face. You’re mine, yes? You were made for me.”

“Yes,” Arthur answered without thought.

Merlin kissed him again and they sank slowly to the forest floor, wrapped around each other, alone on the earth.


	3. Chapter 3

On their return, they found Camelot on the edge of civil war with attacks on the magic users rising. Lord Gilhorn and his allies were calling for a total ban on magic and another purge. Mobs in the streets called for the king to end the mage menace or step down from the throne.

Arthur met with his council as soon as he returned, and Sefa was brought before them. She was pale and red-eyed but held her head high. Beside her stood an older woman with the same burnt gold hair and thin nose, clearly her mother. She came to the table and knelt, facing Arthur. “Spare my daughter. I tried to raise her in a respectful home, but her druid father filled her head with stories of the Old Religion.”

“You are not a mage?” Arthur asked.

“I was sir,” she admitted, stringy hair falling into her face. “But I don’t dare use it now. My gift was never strong anyhow.”

“How will it look to my enemies if I pardon the one who poisoned me?” he asked. “How will it look to the people in the streets who want druid blood to pay for druid murders?”

“Your majesty,” she breathed. “She is only a weak young girl. Must she pay for the wickedness of others? Your reforms made life easier for people like us. The mages of this city love you dearly for giving them a place again. No longer must we hide. If those times return, we shall have to flee to the forest or throw ourselves in the river. Please don’t bring another purge.”

“I cannot control the fear in this city,” Arthur said. “If you stay here, it may devour you.”

He looked at Merlin, who sat without speaking, gaze level. Merlin didn’t say anything but his eyes on Arthur’s had the strength that Arthur needed. Arthur turned to Sefa, standing there so frightened and brave. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. _“So, the minority must suffer and die so that the majority can sleep well at night?”_ Merlin had asked him once.

“Sefa will not face execution,” Arthur said. “However, she must swear an oath to never again seek harm against Camelot’s king or people.”

The mother’s face crumpled as she wept tears of gratitude. “God bless you for your mercy, Your Majesty.”

Sefa looked confused, but she approached the throne when prompted, made her vow, and kissed Arthur’s ring.

When the two women left the room, Leon gave a deep sigh. “I hope you haven’t lost the kingdom for a tender heart, Arthur.”

“So do I,” Arthur said.

Agravaine’s mouth frowned but his eyes had a triumphant glow. “Sire, the people will not take this well. With all the disasters that have befallen us of late, fear is running high. The city is like a boiling cauldron and this act could tip it over.”

Arthur nodded, pensive. Something in the words rang familiar. Yes, Morgana had also compared Camelot to a cauldron. _“Your enemies hunger to dip into the stewpot.”_ Agravaine looked hungry now, no doubt already eyeing the throne for himself. The turmoil in Camelot could actually benefit him.

“Uncle,” Arthur said. “Isn’t it odd that these killings are ineptly marked with druid symbols? It seems that true practitioners sacrificing for their magic wouldn’t leave the bodies lying out in the open. They’d know backlash would follow.”

Agravaine blinked and his features settled into wary reticence. “Indeed. Perhaps they had no time to dispose of the corpses.”

Lance leaned forward. “And yet they left runes and herbs and all sorts of trappings lying about,” he pointed out. “And our wiseman here tells us that druids don’t even do human sacrifices. It’s but a myth.”

“How strange,” Agravaine remarked, looking tenser now, though his mouth remained soft and sardonic. “But everyone knows that druids kill in their stone circles to please the old goddesses.”

“Tales made up to frighten folks,” Merlin said. “They kill sheep and deer and leave bowls of blood and herbs. Never humans. But those who stumble upon blood-stained circles of stones spin nightmares in their heads. Human sacrifice is the most terrifying taboo.”

“Sire,” Agravaine said tightly. “Why is the council questioning me? Am I under suspicion?”

“Your guilt is written on your face,” Merlin said darkly. “I can read it in your mind, if asked to.”

Agravaine stepped back, whitening. “You have a brought a mage to slander me, my king?”

“There is no need,” Arthur said, settling back in his seat. “Your confederates, your household, all will be questioned. One of them will link you to these crimes.”

In the end, the plot was easily unraveled. Agravaine’s pageboy admitted to transporting messages between his master and some local roughs. A search of their homes revealed items owned by the victims. The killers all confessed easily enough and showed payment from Agravaine’s household.

When brought to trial, Agravaine had no apologies or excuses. He stood before them as Sefa had, wan but proud. “Your majesty, you’d best execute me before you’re overthrown,” he told Arthur. His nostrils flared. “Queen Morgana is coming for her throne and there is no stopping her.”

“Queen?” Arthur repeated, heart stopping.

“Uther’s bastard daughter,” Agravaine said with sneer. “His firstborn and true heir to Camelot. She’ll sweep up the rubble of this fractured kingdom and build a new one.”

“You’re mad,” Arthur said, inwardly reeling. Morgana, his half-sister? She had said nothing of it in the grove. He looked at Merlin and saw he too was astounded at the news. “So, you’ve been colluding with my enemies to stir Camelot into disarray so that you can bring a usurper in. Do expect she will make you her consort?”

Agravaine’s haughty smirk confirmed it.

“Uncle,” Arthur said. “I sentence you to death for the gruesome murders of three innocent people, in a plot to incite fear and retribution against magic users. You had no quarrel with these citizens, and you had no reluctance to buy their lives. All of Albion will know of your evil.”

Agravaine laughed. “You father killed more innocent citizens in one day that I could in ten years. Yet you buried him with full royal honors.”

Murmurs and low voices rose from the people watching. Arthur couldn’t look at Merlin or his knights. “My father most likely deserved to be executed for his crimes as well. But I was in no position to render justice. Now I am.” He motioned to the guards to take Agravaine away. “Goodbye, Uncle.”

The news of Agravaine’s arrest was spread through the city in hours. Although it was impossible to convince everyone that a lord was guilty and the druids were not, the tensions in Camelot eased and the riots and attacks subsided. With Sefa’s pardon, the mages and their families began to leave wreaths and amulets of blessing outside the palace. Percy reported that the knights and soldiers wearing the dragon on the field of red were greeted with cheers and thanks in certain parts of the city. Lord Gilhorn backed out of the public eye when his connection to Agravaine was scrutinized and the code of conduct he had championed for the guilds died a quiet death.

But outside the city, violence had emerged again. Bandits from Essetir were raiding and burning again. And two more villages to the east had been overrun by thorny plants with tough vines that grew too quickly to cut.

Arthur sent two companies of horsemen with Lance and Elyan to drive out the raiders. At the same time, he led an expedition of swordsmen to the east, with Merlin at his side. All along the roads they found people making their way to the city, traders and peddlers and families with all their belonging on their backs. A herd of sheep streamed along the road like a wooly flood.

At last, they reached the nearest village, no more than a hamlet with a cluster of low buildings and a long livestock shed. The thorny vines covering it were as thick as tree trunks in some places. The thorns curving off them looked like scimitars. Arthur called for a halt and swung off his horse to investigate.

“Take care,” Merlin said. He too dismounted in a sweep of long robes.

“What do you think?” Arthur asked as they drew closer. “It must be magic, yes?”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “They appear to be dormant now. But the villagers said that they grew quickly?”

“Like monstrous worms.” Arthur unsheathed his sword and poked at the nearest vine with the tip of his sword. It did not move, but he felt its surface was hard, no tender stalk.

He turned to the twenty swordsmen assembling behind them. “Begin cutting. But if the plants show life, retreat. This is a different kind of foe.”

The soldiers advancing, drawing their blades. The sun glittered over all the shining metal. Arthur gave the first hard hack, his sword splitting the stalk halfway through. He had to raise it again to chop the entire vine off. The cutting fell to the earth, oozing thick yellowish sap. It smelled like scythed grass.

Soon the entire line of swordsmen was swinging away at the overgrown mass, gradually pruning away the invading vines. The ground quickly became covered in scraps of sticky vegetation. Their boots and armor offered some protection from the points of the thorns, but they had to move carefully. One man ripped his surcoat on the edge of a thorn. Another got one lodged in his chainmail.

They were approaching the main buildings—the headman’s hall and the chapel when Merlin murmured something. Arthur followed his eyeline and saw a lamb impaled on one thick thorn, its blood dried dark brown on its wool. A little farther away, a large hare was pinned to the earth on the stake of another thorn. A little trickle of fear ran between his ribs.

Then there was a cracking sound like splitting stone. The earth trembled under his boots.

“Back!” Merlin shouted. “Everyone back!”

The mass of vines flexed like a tangle of snakes and new shoots sprang out of the older ones. Some broke through the earth and lashed toward the soldiers. The men were fleeing now, but vines dead and living tripped them, slowing their progress.

A thorny tentacle whipped toward Arthur and he struck it with his sword, guarding Merlin. The impact rang through his entire arm and left a deep gash in the vine, but didn’t cut through. More vines came lashing toward him and he backed away, pulling Merlin with him.

The ground cracked and plants came bursting out all around them. Arthur felt a wave of helpless terror wash over him, but he kept his strikes quick and controlled. He couldn’t see any of his men, only the wall of thorns closing in.

Merlin pushed their attackers back with gusts of power but they kept coming from all angles. Finally, he lifted his hands high and the air shimmered gold. Fire rained down from the clouds above. Flaming comets splattered around them. The plants began to smoke and sizzle. The leaking sap lighted like hot fat and spattered merrily. Like beasts shying away from a swung torch, the vines whipped away from the little fires, swaying wildly.

Arthur and Merlin ducked their way out of the burning forest and joined the milling swordsmen some distance away. A few had suffered scrapes and cuts from the thorns. One had a bad wound in his thigh and would have to ride home. But none had fallen in the attack, Arthur saw to his relief.

They watched the fire spread over the squirming mass of vines and then light the thatch of the huts.

Merlin sighed, looking pained. “I panicked. What a cursed failure.”

Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. “Buildings can be rebuilt. You saved our lives with your quick thinking.”

In the end, only half the village burned, though most of the reed-thatched roofs were gone. The vines were blackened masses of smoking oily tendrils all withered away. Merlin treated the wounds of the men and they marched a few miles before making camp. The men seemed to all regard Merlin with awe now. Arthur wondered how quickly word of Merlin’s power would spread through the ranks when they reached the city again.

Inside his tent, Arthur busied himself with removing his armor and cleaning his sword while Merlin paced the small space, frowning. Their attack on the vines had only been a partial success and Arthur could tell the destruction of the huts weighed heavily on him.

“What shall we do about the other settlements?” Merlin asked. “Do you want to burn them all, or shall we let the thorns have them?”

Arthur pondered the dilemma. “We must consult with the former residents and let them decide if they want their homes destroyed by fire or thorn. Perhaps the plants will die on their own.” He sheathed his sword and laid it on top of the pile of his chainmail and leathers.

“Not if the same magic continues to feed them,” Merlin said.

“Then this creeping menace will continue to take over our lands.” Arthur scowled. “We must march until we find the source of the magic and stop it.”

“That could take ages,” Merlin protested. “We don’t know where it originated. We don’t know the path of the plants. We will have to travel all over the eastern side of the kingdom.”

“Then I should abandon these lands?” Arthur demanded. “And what if this menace reaches the city and climbs over the walls. How will be fight it then?”

Merlin’s brows drew together. “I will survey the land for you. I can track this scourge from the sky.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “You can fly?”

“In my own way,” Merlin said. He untied the cord that belted his robes and removed something from the folds of fabric. He handed it to Arthur—a finely made dagger with a yellow gem in the hilt. It cast him back to a night long ago with the fires of Saxon raiders crackling in the forest.

“You kept this?” Arthur murmured, turning the dagger in his hands. “All these years?”

“It’s saved me a time or two,” Merlin said. “Keep it for me until I return.”

Relief eased the knot in Arthur’s throat. Merlin wasn’t trying to return his gift to him.

Merlin gathered his robes and pulled them over his head, revealing his bare chest and dark leggings. He had a strange scar on his abdomen and a little blue-black tattoo of a soaring raptor on his hip. The coiled arms of the triskelion still graced the curve of his collar bone. Arthur remembered kissing him there once in a rainstorm, lying on old straw in a leaky cattle-shed.

Merlin loosened his boots and pulled them off. “Don’t worry, I will go unseen.”

“Do you have to go right now?” Arthur asked as Merlin pushed down his leggings, leaving himself completely bared. Arthur moved in close to him, reached out and stroked a hand down his side, over the lines of his ribs.

Merlin dropped his head and smiled up at him with a hint of coyness. “First thing in the morning then. I don’t see well at night.”

There was only a thin pallet covered with linen and blue woolen blanket. Merlin led Arthur there and undressed him slowly. His mouth touched every patch of revealed skin, lingering over Arthur’s shoulders, the curve of his chest, and the points of his nipples. His tongue and teeth had Arthur straining and pleading almost immediately. His fingers unbuckling Arthur’s belt teased the prickling skin of his belly. His nails trailed down the sides of Arthur’s legs as he pulled his breeches down.

They stood naked before each other in the dim light of the tent. The sounds of the soldiers outside seemed muffled and distant. Arthur wondered if Merlin could make a sound barrier between them. He hoped so. He was already breathing hard and a whine caught in his throat as Merlin’s hands slid down the line of his back to his buttocks.

Merlin tipped his head to Arthur’s. “My king,” he said, eyes closing. Their mouths slid together so easily, beards rasping against each other. Their bodies moved close, thighs brushing, chests pressing, hips bumping, shafts rubbing against each other. Arthur groaned and Merlin’s hands pulled him closer, grinding them together. Heat swirled up through Arthur’s core. His skin crackled with light.

Arthur pulled his mouth away from Merlin’s, gasping. His vision blazed with color. His legs felt weak. Merlin’s breath on the side of his face blurred his head with a fog of desire. Merlin sank slowly to the pallet on the ground, pulling Arthur with him. They writhed and grappled on the bedding there together, breathless with delight and hunger.

Merlin’s eyes gleamed and he twisted them around until Arthur was turned on his front, face against the blanket, with Merlin kneeling over him. Merlin’s hand covered the back of Arthur’s neck, stroking gripping him there, like a man with his favorite hound. “Let me have you,” he said. He pressed his mouth against Arthur’s shoulder. “Give yourself to me.”

“Yes,” Arthur breathed, shivering with raw want.

He didn’t know where Merlin got the oil, but slippery fingers worked him open with steady confidence. The stretch and burn only whetted the sharp edge of his desire. Arthur pushed his face into the linen, shuddering. Then Merlin’s prick nudged against his hole and Merlin guided it in with one hand welded to Arthur’s hip. The pressure of it working into him made him struggle to open wider, welcoming the pain and burnt-red bliss of taking Merlin into his body.

Merlin’s oily hand slid up Arthur’s side and wrapped up under his chest, gripping his shoulder from below. He began to move in shallow strokes that pulsed choked sounds out of Arthur’s throat. Merlin’s slick skin slid against Arthur’s back. He grunted a harsh noise and pressed his mouth into the back of Arthur’s neck, lengthening his thrusts. Every movement rocked Arthur’s body and his mind. The wild pleasure throbbed deep inside him.

Merlin moaned into the nape of Arthur’s neck and increased his speed, surging into Arthur like an ocean. His fingernails dug into Arthur’s shoulder, pricking a sharp-sweet blaze. Arthur cried out into the blanket. He felt dragged out of himself. Each thrust rolled a stab of pleasure through him, so intense he couldn’t believe. Gold soaked his skin and dripped off in his sweat. Gold twisted through him and he could see himself from above, spine undulating, moaning and shuddering on the pallet. He was in his own body and also in Merlin. Taking and yielding at the same time. It was too much, a barrage of feeling.

He screamed into the bedding as the storm of release broke over him. Lightening lanced through his limbs and burst in his head. Hot seed pumped thick on the pallet beneath him and inside him. Merlin groaned something in another tongue, hips still rolling as he emptied himself. He collapsed on Arthur’s back, sobbing for breath. The heat and weight of him covered Arthur, steadying him. He could feel the wash of tears in his eyes. His heart still leapt against his ribcage, pounding a hard rhythm. But the frantic fever of their coupling slowly melted into a haze of contentment. Merlin nuzzled Arthur’s neck and his hair. His own locks trailed softly against the back of Arthur’s shoulders.

The morning light glowing through the canvas of the tent, eased them awake. There was already the clatter of armor and pots in the camp. Merlin kissed Arthur slowly. Arthur combed his fingers through Merlin’s dark hair and rubbed his soft scalp.

Eventually, Merlin detangled himself from Arthur with obvious reluctance and clambered to his feet. “Unfasten the door of the tent,” Merlin said, stretching his shoulders. His eyes began to fill with gold.

Arthur did as he asked, uncertain, as Merlin was still naked as a newborn babe.

But Merlin breathed out and began to shrink before his eyes. His skin darkened and smoothed out into feathers. His face extended to the cruel curve of a hooked beak. A handsome brown-gold falcon stood across the floor of Arthur’s tent. It shuffled through the gap in the tent door and promptly flapped its wings hard to take flight.

 _“I’ll be back before nightfall,”_ Merlin’s voice said inside his head.

 _“Take care,”_ Arthur thought at him, marveling.

The camp rattled with talk of Master Merlin, the mage who had rained down fire from heaven to destroy the demonic plants. And Merlin’s falcon transformation hadn’t gone as subtly as he’d hoped either. Several men asked Arthur if the hawk that emerged from his tent early in the morning was the wizard himself.

Arthur told them it was none of their concern, that Merlin was searching for signs of sorcery which might be feeding the thorny vines. He had them pack up the camp and prepare to move, but it was several hours before Merlin returned.

Before Arthur saw Merlin, he heard his voice. _“Arthur! Get them back to Camelot!”_

Arthur raised his head to the sky and spotted the bird—a swift, dark arrow streaking toward them. “What is it?”

_“Two armies marching from the east. Blue banners to the southeast and red from the northeast. They’re reaching the edge of the forest now.”_

Arthur cursed, heart racing. _“Essetir and Mercia. What the devil has happened? Are they ready for war?”_

The falcon swooped in closer. _“They are fully armed and dragging siege machines.”_

 _“The scouts should have reported their movements to Camelot already.”_ Leon, Gwaine and Percy would rally a defense. But if Arthur and his men were cut off, two armies would stand between them and the city. And Lance and Elyan had a good portion of their horsemen out in the borderlands, if he hadn’t encountered the forces of Essetir on the move already.

“Move out!” he shouted to the swordsmen, many of whom were watching the movements of the falcon. “We charge for Camelot at double speed.” If their enemies were hauling rams and trebuchets, their progress would be slowed. Still, there were few horses in Arthur’s company and his men were in full armor. They could march quickly, but would they make it to the city in time?

It was no easy journey this time. They left their tents and most supplies in the field to move faster. Arthur kept them at a steady pace and Merlin circled above, reporting on any obstacles in their path. The swamp that they had picked their way through before could be avoided completely if they climbed a rocky hill. Men began to sweat and redden. They paused to rest and drink water at the top of the hill.

Merlin flew down and perched on a craggy rock. _“Lance and Elyan and the riders are circling from the north. I think they’ll get back to Camelot before anyone else. Should I reveal myself to him?”_

 _“No, we’ll be there in a few hours,”_ Arthur said. His feet ached from walking. His and Merlin’s horses carried the wounded men so he marched along with the other troops. _“Did you spy the path of the thorns?”_

 _“They originate from a sacred circle a few miles to the south,”_ Merlin said grimly. _“Morgana’s people are probably behind it.”_

 _“And do you think she also recruited the neighboring kings to her cause?”_ Arthur asked, numb with dread. He took another drink from his flask and let the cool water slide down his throat.

 _“It’s possible,”_ Merlin said. _“Agravaine seemed to believe her claim to the throne. If he conspired with her and they brought in Essetir and Mercia, it could be a united front against you.”_

 _“We signed treaties,”_ Arthur hissed, remembering the council of kings, the ornate ceremonies, the breaking of bread. _“They’re all traitors.”_

They reached Camelot as the sun hit the horizon. No armies waited outside the walls yet but a river of people were pushing their way in. Arthur hurried his swordsmen through the gate. Inside the city, he was met by Lance and Elyan, still sweaty and whip-chapped from their long ride.

“We’re preparing for an attack,” Lance said, pulling off his helmet. “They’ve already sent out the alarm to all the settlements.”

“So I see,” Arthur said. “The city is packed full.”

“We’re trying to find shelter for everyone, but some must sleep in the streets tonight.”

“We’ll see if anyone sleeps tonight,” Arthur said darkly.

“Surely they’ll wait for morning to attack,” Percy said.

Lance shook his head. “They’ve caught us unaware, nearly caught the king out of his castle. They’ll press their advantage before we can get all our defenses in place.”

As though to underscore his words, a shout went up from the wall. “Lights in the forest!”

“Damnation,” Arthur growled. “Where’s Merlin gone to?”

Percy looked confused. “Wasn’t he with you?”

Arthur waved his hand in a futile gesture. “He was…scouting.”

Lance looked alarmed. “Outside the walls?”

“Don’t trouble yourselves,” Arthur told them. “He’ll be fine.”

The two of them exchanged a long look. “But how did he get his tongue back?” Percy said at last.

Arthur froze, uncertain of how to reply. Another shout from the wall made them all look up. “Ask him another time,” Arthur muttered.

They climbed the many stairs to the parapets and saw what the lookouts were so agitated about. A line of white lanterns stretched across the tree line. Squinting, Arthur could barely make out the figures holding the lights, dressed in brown and green, each with a hood. “Druids,” he groaned. “Two armies coming and a pack of druids arrives first.”

“Get to the garrison,” Lance told Arthur. “Direct our forces.”

Arthur made his way off the wall and hurried through the lower town. All around him, people were rushing and shouting, searching for a refuge.

On the street to the garrison, he saw Merlin striding toward him, dressed hurriedly in ill-fitting clothes. Behind him walked a crowd of about a dozen townsfolk—men and women with a desperate look in their eyes.

“King Arthur,” Merlin said. “These good people wish to lend their aid.”

“And there are many more of a us too,” one man piped up. “We’ll send out the word.”

“Thank you, but we have soldiers to do the fighting,” Arthur said. “Please shelter yourselves.”

“We have magic,” a woman declared. “We can heal and protect your men. Some of us can use combat spells.”

Arthur looked at Merlin and saw the steadfast expression on his face. “Very well, if you are willing to risk your lives for Camelot, I commend you.”

“You protected us,” the first man said again. “You gave us our lives and our rights again. We fight for you.”

Arthur felt a swell of gratitude. “I will give the order that you are not to be hindered in your work. We welcome the help you bring.”

After that, everything seemed to pass in a blur of faces and voices and demands. The archers took up position on the walls, the pikemen guarded the gates. Hot tar and sharp stones were gathered and brought to the wall. All the gates were braced with spare timber and iron bars. The air rang with the clatter of mail against steel plates as soldiers hurried from place to place.

In the midst of apportioning the infantry to different quadrants of the city, Leon appeared, looking tense and asking to speak privately with Arthur. Arthur dismissed his men impatiently so that they were alone in the room. “What is it?”

“Queen Mithian has left the city,” Leon said. “She took the two princesses with her and three handmaids. They appear to be riding west.”

Arthur’s head dropped. She was going to the estate of her lover. “I see. Do not hinder her. But send four fast horsemen to follow at a distance and ensure that they reach their destination safely.” It was all he could do.

“Yes,” Leon said in a low voice. “It will be done.”

Arthur turned back to the preparations at hand. He couldn’t fret about Mithian now. Perhaps she would find happiness elsewhere. Perhaps her girls would be welcomed and loved as they deserved. But the thought of Arielle’s delighted face as she watched Merlin juggle lights sent a pang of loss through him. He’d never spent much time with her before, and now he’d lost his chance to ever be a part of her life.

The druids had advanced from the forest and now stood in the center of the field, just out of range of the archers. They didn’t move any closer. On the wall, Arthur turned to Merlin. “What are they doing?”

“Weaving a spell,” Merlin said. “They are calling on the spirits of those killed by Uther and the people of Camelot. They are entreating the dead to seek vengeance.”

“God save us.” The stone of the low parapet wall was rough and cold under Arthur’s palms. “How can we stop them?”

“I’ll rally the mages,” Merlin said. “Maybe we can counter them.”

In the distance, the torches of the oncoming armies flowing toward them, flanking Camelot from two directions. Arthur would have to split his forces to defend the walls. He shouted orders down to the commanders below.

Slowly, a white mist rose from the fields. An eerie hiss split the air.

Merlin’s eyes burned gold and he took on a distant gaze as though he had retreated inside himself. Then his hand squeezed Arthur’s arm again. “Light and heat. We will drive them back.”

“Who?” Arthur demanded. Then the hissing filled his ears and he turned to see a wispy white shape flying at him. It had the translucent features of a man, bent and warped. It moved like a sheet of smoke blown by a strong wind.

Merlin cast a blast of golden light that blinded Arthur. When he could see again, the ghost was nowhere to be found, but more spirits were appearing all over the ramparts and down in the lower city, rising from the cobblestones like hot steam. Arthur watched one charge an archer and stream into his body. The archer’s eyes went blank and he toppled lifelessly to the ground.

All around them, mages were frantically throwing blasts of light at the ghosts, though none as bright as Merlin’s. When they weren’t strong enough to disintegrate the creatures, they forced them back and slowed them.

“How long can we keep this up?” Arthur asked Merlin.

Merlin just shook his head and hurled another blinding wave of light.

Below, the lines of Cenred’s army advanced on the field, weaving between the druids. They set up a shield line as they got in range of the archers and most of Camelot’s bolts and shafts clattered harmlessly off their beaten metal. They were covering the men who hauled the long siege ladders, and moving at a frightening pace. Arthur wondered bleakly if Morgana had enchanted them for speed and safety.

Inside the walls, soldiers were falling left and right as the wraiths streamed through the city. There weren’t enough mages to stop them. They could only struggle to limit the damage.

Out of the trees rolled the twin trebuchets, long necks bent back, eager to throw missiles over the city walls.

“We’re doomed,” Arthur cried to Merlin, who was still steadily fighting back the wraiths. “Your fate was mistaken. Fly from here, Merlin.”

Merlin laughed wildly. “The fight has hardly begun.” He met Arthur’s eyes with a mad-eyed grin. “I told you I’d never let you fall.”

The roar from the wall was accompanied by the whack of siege ladders against the stone. Shouts filled the air as the ladders rattled with the weight of climbing soldiers and the archers trying to knock them down.

A flocked of ravens swarmed over the wall in a black tide. They swirled around and melded into a human shape—Morgana in a black dress and green mantle. She smiled at Arthur and Merlin, clothed in shadows. “You’ll have to do better than that, Emrys,” she murmured. She raised a gnarled staff and gracefully swept it toward Arthur. A stream of fire shot from its tip.

A glowing shield of gold flew up before Arthur, blocking the attack. The yellow flames curled around it. Merlin sent a gust of wind that knocked her staff back. But then he had to turn and flash light at a pair of wraiths that were approaching them from behind.

“Your power is too divided,” Morgana murmured. She lifted her staff again and the stones below Arthur’s feet softened into quicksand. He thrashed and writhed, but couldn’t get out. He was up to his calves in the stone, cold and hard around him.

Merlin lunged for him. His eyes were blazing gold. When his hand touched Arthur’s forearm, the light rushed through Arthur. He could see himself from above, a pitiful human struggling against the grip of stone. He could see the battlements raging with battle as the enemy swarmed over the walls. He could see the mages inside Camelot fighting the army of wraiths. He could see shadows swirling around Morgana. And down, see down, beneath the stone and earth, something woke in the cold black hollow under the world. Fire and blood.

Merlin gasped, clutching Arthur.

“You see now,” Morgana said triumphantly. The wind played with her cloak and gown. “ _Pendragon_.”

The rumbling began with a terrible sound of splitting and tearing. Cracks opened up and snaked through the field below the castle. The invading army scrambled to get away as earth bent and bowed and mounded up, as though some enormous mole was burrowing out. Scaly claws emerged, then a long limb. Screams and shouts rose from everywhere around.

At last the head of the creature broke free—the size of a galley ship, with spiny protrusions and a long mouth full of teeth. The monster roared, pure frustration and fury.

Morgana laughed silently, watching it. She looked back at Arthur and Merlin. “My part is played. Your champion is here, Dragonlord. Your enemies are delivered to you, my brother. Your city is united. Nothing stands in your way.”

Arthur gaped at her. Merlin stepped away from him. “You said…” he stopped and frowned.

“Emrys,” she murmured. “Keep the Old Religion with the new. The goddesses will be with you.” She stepped back and climbed onto the parapet and stood perched there, like a beautiful, terrible creature of the night.

Behind her, the massive beating of wings filled the air and the shadow of the huge dragon fell over them. As Morgana raised her staff and pointed it at Merlin and Arthur, the dragon roared down upon her and swept her into its jaws with a snap of its serpentine neck.

“No!” Merlin shouted. The rushing wind from its wings made them both duck and shield their faces. The stone around Arthur’s feet released him and he found himself standing on solid ground again.

The dragon circled the field, with Morgana’s long hair trailing from its teeth. Then it rounded toward them again and dropped her battered body at Merlin’s feet. Blood soaked her long dress. Her eyes were open and sightless. But there was a smile on her face.

In the field below the castle, Essetir’s army was beating a swift retreat. The dragon returned to sailing over them. Fire spewed from its gullet, lighting the rams and trebuchet. A chant went up from the druids. They knelt in the grass and shouted, “Emrys, Emrys, Emrys!”

Merlin called out to the dragon in a strange tongue, and it whirled around and flew across to the other side of the city, where Mercia was assaulting the far wall. Soon the reek of smoke and the screams of troops filled the air.

The wraiths had vanished like mist in a hard wind. All the people who had fallen before them now regained their senses, recovering from their stupor. A cheer went up from the walls and spread down through the streets.

When the sun rose, Mercia and Essetir both surrendered to Camelot. Bayard was pale as milk as he knelt before Arthur and Merlin. Cenred looked a bitter, beaten man. The army of Camelot had followed their retreat while the dragon wheeled overhead, lighting fires to block their paths. Merlin could direct the monster easily. It followed his commands. And the fighting men of Camelot followed Arthur’s commands, much as they feared coming near the dragon.

And the fleeing kings had no recourse but to give up everything.

Looking at the two powerful men prostrate before him, Arthur felt very tired. He’d tried treaties and diplomacy for so long. He didn’t want Cenred’s Saxons or Mercia’s slavers tromping through Camelot any longer. He didn’t want to see their people spilling into Camelot for protection. He demanded they both step down from their thrones and live in exile to keep their lives. Arthur could hardly manage Camelot, let alone two more kingdoms, so he determined to appoint rulers who would be more amendable to maintaining peace and looking after their own people.

The look of shock on Cenred’s face when he realized he’d be exiled instead of executed almost made Arthur laugh. His father would have taken Cenred’s head for sure, but Arthur had no stomach for any more death. Certainly, Cenred could raise forces on the continent and attempt a coup, but the threat of the dragon would likely give him pause.

The intimidating beast had taken roost on the craggy cliffs near the castle. Merlin had assured Arthur that it would not act against him. Merlin stood at Arthur’s side through the entire surrender ceremony and Arthur didn’t fail to notice how all the men shrank from his presence. He’d changed into dark robes with a long gray cloak fastened with an antler pin tipped with bronze. Every now and then a swirl of gold rolled through his eyes. They’d heard he called fire from heaven and beasts from the earth. He slayed the ghosts and commanded the dragon.

They should all be bowing down to Merlin, Arthur thought. Arthur was only there due to his blood and his military campaigns. But Merlin had given Arthur the command of the nation.

At the end, facing the kings and lords and druids on the muddy, torn field, surrounded by his knights, Arthur reached to his side and took Merlin’s wrist. He raised it up, ignoring Merlin’s quizzical look. He held Merlin’s arm up to the sky with his.

“The great and powerful Merlin the Sorcerer will rule Camelot by my side. Let it be known today that the Old Religion is welcome alongside the new. Anyone who moves against the mages moves against us both. Anyone who uses magic against our people will face us both.”

The people before him looked astounded. Murmurs of disbelief rose up from the crowd. Merlin turned incredulous eyes to Arthur.

“It is done,” Arthur told him.

Merlin

In the tower library, Merlin curls up in his goose down pillow nest and sips a glass of hot spiced mead. Even when the weather warms, the nights are cool. He flips the page in a volume of poetry and scans through the lines. It’s all pretty nonsense, but there is a soothing rhythm in the words. He will memorize a few lines and recite them to Arthur in bed later, just to make him smile and shake his head. Arthur is his king and his fool. What other man would let his former enemy rule alongside him? What man would appoint other rulers to manage the lands he’d conquered? Only Arthur, the beautiful, noble idiot who dropped his pride for the good of his people.

As though summoned, Arthur pushes the door open and slips inside. He wears a loose red tunic over his brown breeches. Without any finery or armor, he could be a handsome peasant. But the line of his back, the openness of his face, the confidence in his hands—they all say _king_ , _master_ , and Merlin’s magic vibrates through his bones in answer.

“Hiding away again?”

“Only from annoying blond prats,” Merlin responds, unable to keep from grinning at him.

Arthur moves close and drops to a crouch in front of him. His hand slides around Merlin’s ankle. “What if I caught you a mouse? Would you love me then?”

“Hmm,” Merlin says, pretending to think. “Three mice, and then we’ll consider it.”

Arthur smiles and crawls up to straddle Merlin. He looks down at him with a steady fire in his eyes. “How about three kisses?” He tilts his head into Merlin’s and their mouths meet. It sends a thrill of joy through Merlin. Then Arthur’s mouth lifts away and they stare at each other again. Merlin grabs the back of his head and pulls him in again, fingers deep in Arthur’s bright hair. Their lips mash together, their tongues meet, and their beards scrape a rough friction.

After a while, Merlin loses track of the kisses. Their bodies roll together in surges and waves. Gold wraps around them, entwining them until he can’t tell where he begins and Arthur ends.

Arthur

Emissaries come from the other kingdoms. Many address him and Merlin as the “High Kings of the West.” News of the dragon has spread far and wide and the other kings are already suing for new treaties, offering tribute so that he won’t burn their lands. It’s all somewhat baffling to Arthur, but he tries to take responsibility for the situation. Merlin seems to expect it. He tells Arthur war will come again, but for now they are at peace.

The thorns that covered the villages wither away. The crops in the farmlands flourish and provide an excellent harvest. The druids begin to frequent the cities once more. The use of magic grows.

A part of Arthur mourns the loss of the sister he never knew, the woman who sacrificed herself to bring her people out of exile and ensure Merlin would unite Camelot. He mourns too the absence of the young princesses. He received one letter from Mithian, begging him to let her go. He could not refuse her. She could never return to Camelot as queen now, with the reputation she has. He hopes she is happy living in a cottage on the estate of her lover, with the two girls. Arthur wrote her to assure her that he will provide anything they need.

Happiness is something Arthur lived without for a long time. There were always spare moments of joy in the crushing parade of years. But that moment in the forest where Emrys bared his throat like an offering and Arthur kissed his sticky sweet skin—that fed him for years, drawing from the well of memory in his darkest times. Now he can hardly comprehend how blessed his life is.

Yes, there are still troubles, still long days of sifting through the intricacies of governing his land, the disputes, the politics, the misfortunes that arrive with each turning of the seasons. But now he has Merlin at his side, a sorcerer deftly cutting through veils and walls. Merlin is his staff to lean on and his shield to guard him. Merlin is the water sprite drawing him through the depths of the sea, holding him safe, lifting him to the shining surface before he can drown.


End file.
